The Light Within
by Ace65
Summary: Chapter Nineteen: As Alain heads out into the dark, he begins to fear for the tiefling's psyche. How will he cope after being out in the warzone? Elsewhere, Trey and Delion hatch a plan to halt the Drow forces... Early chapters being heavily edited.
1. Cold Trails

The Light Within

Twin shadows appeared from over the horizon, within sight of the 1st guardhouse of Waterdeep, the first checkpoint incoming travelers would come to. Captain Ward Aseph squinted from the second floor window of the battlement, before descending down the stone staircase to the first floor. Besides him, there were ten other soldiers at the checkpoint, but seven of those were called back inside the city core, as a safeguard against the rumored mobilizing Drow. Just rumors, in his humbled opinion. The deaths of nobles throughout the city were strange, no doubt about that, but the idea of dark elves above the surface was laughable. Not with Durnan and the Undermountain sitting on top of them.

Aseph tutted to himself as he stepped outside of the tower to meet the strangers. A month ago, at least two of his guard would have been at the gate before he could so much as his shift his paperwork aside. Nowadays, it was a good day if he could trust twice that number to be within shouting distance. The recent 'excitement' in the city core had meant that many of the soldiers on-duty had been recalled back into Waterdeep, leaving him with many of the half-wits and rookies from their reserves. Useless baggage.

He wiped a gauntleted hand gingerly across his brow, then straightened his shoulders, as he stood behind the steel gate that blocked entrance into the city. The figures which had seemed little more than shadows from the second floor sharply came into view beneath the torchlight.

Two men stood before him, the blockade blocking direct contact between them and the captain. One, a man, stood about 6'2'', a weather-stained cloak covered his head, shielding him from elements, and his features from the outside. The most unusual thing that leapt to Aseph's mind was the lack of any kind of weapon. No shield, nor sheath, and judging from his relaxed posture, no heavy armor either. The other man (_No,_ Aseph corrected, _not yet, not with that peach fuzz)_ was similarly dressed, with one exception: a small, curved blade, attached to a five-inch piece of wood hung at his belt. It reminded him of a farmer's sickle, but it was far too small...

"Show your faces, please." said Aseph in a clipped tone. He wasn't the type of man subject to paranoia, but the taxpayers were nervous, and Aseph had to bow to them.

Luckily, the man complied without question, and the boy as well, after a moment's hesitation. The man's face was smooth, unmarked by any bruises or scars, and his skin was a tanned, leathery brown attained by too much time in the sun. His round head was shaved, and gleamed in the dim light. His eyes followed the pattern, a deep brown that seemed to sparkle like water in a deep well. Only the slight shade of white in the man's eyebrows gave any indication of age. The boy was similarly brown-skinned, but his head was covered with unruly black hair, which no comb would tame. In stark contrast to the man, the boy's left cheek bore a large scar, which looked like a quarter moon. Aseph tore his eyes from the boy's cheek and he rummaged through a mess of papers on a nearby stack before finding the registrar and a battered quill.

"Names?"

"Trey Nefzen," said the man quietly, his eyes gazing towards Waterdeep proper behind the captain.

"Alain Johns," said the boy, and Aseph scribbled both names on the sheet, then nodded.

"More a formality than anything, but has to be done," Aseph said with a touch of sheepishness. Something about them made him feel uncomfortably self-conscious. He undid the lock on the gate and pushed the door open for them.

"Enjoy your stay in Waterdeep, m'lords." _Not that there's much to enjoy,_ he thought to himself. The two men stepped over the threshold and continued down the road towards the City Core. The bald monk said nothing to the captain, his eyes fixed on his destination, but the boy nodded respectfully to the Captain as he passed. He returned the nod, and any doubts the captain had about them seemed to be dispelled with that acknowledgement. Besides that, they were clearly strong, to be traveling with no weapons in the open countryside. He watched the two walk down the paved road out of sight, before heading back upstairs to his post.

"Why does everyone look so uptight?" Alain muttered, as the two walked down one of the main roads of Waterdeep. The roads had telltale grooves indented in the middle of the path, indicating that the path was major highway for merchant carriages. It looked as if the business quadrant of Waterdeep had seen better days.

Trey could almost see the multitude of stands along the roadside set up, complete with merchants hawking their wares. Darker days had fallen upon the city, though, and now there were very few stands to look at, and nearly all sold weapons. There were few customers, and they all seemed to be doing business without making any eye contact, with frequent looks over their shoulder.

"Why don't we find out?" Trey said, approaching one of the merchants. "Excuse me, sir?"

"What, what d'you want?" the merchant demanded, his eyes flicking nervously from Trey to Alain. It was obvious that he wanted to be anywhere else. Trey ignored his discomfort, plunging on.

"Where are all of the merchants? I get the feeling that this must be quite the spot for a marketplace, and it's hardly dark yet."

The merchant uttered a short dry laugh. "Hah! You must be a tourist, only this ain't no time for tourism! Just about everything has been given to the militia in the city's defense. Most people can't even stay open nowadays!" he proclaimed. Alain thought he detected a note of pride in the merchant's voice at this last statement.

"Well, we are strangers, you're correct there. But what is the city defending against? Unless I'm mistaken, it has been ages since Waterdeep has been involved in a war."

"It's not the outside we need to be worried about," said the merchant shrewdly, "it's the inside, if you get my meaning."

"I don't believe I do."

"Gods, man!" the merchant cried, exasperated. A few passerby turned to shoot him a glare, looking scandalized, and the merchant quickly lowered his voice. "Waterdeep is sitting on top of the Undermountain, which is sitting on top of Underdark. My mate Gailef tells me you wouldn't want to go down that deep for any amount of money. Huge monsters, barbaric Drow…" the merchant shook his head firmly. "Nasty business."

"So… somehow, the creatures of the Underdark are coming up to the surface? How is that possible?"

"Don't ask me, I don't know anything," the merchant said irritably. "Now if you're not buying something, then clear off!"

"The Underdark… do you know anything about that?" Alain asked, as the two walked on, leaving the business district behind them.

"Nothing beyond what you would hear in a tavern." Trey replied. "The Drow, darker cousins of the Elf, live there, along with several other creatures. They blame the Elves for pushing them underground, but if they wished to get back at them, then there are better places than Waterdeep to strike. It doesn't make sense."

"The merchant said that the militiais fighting against the attacking Drow. Perhaps we should see if we can offer any kind of assistance," suggested Alain.

"The lords of Waterdeep are more than capable of fending off this threat. We would better off trying to find our quarry as soon as possible, before he has time to escape."

"I guess so," mumbled Alain. The "quarry" Trey spoke of was Maric, a thief that the pair had been tracking for weeks. He had taken something of worth from their monastery, but beyond that, Alain didn't know much more. He only knew that he had gotten weary of following vague descriptions and cold leads. _What's to say that this Maric guy hasn't been killed by a Drow or something? We would be better off trying to help here. _Still, there could be no refusing the orders of his elders. No matter how much it rankled him.

"Don't worry," Trey added, sensing the younger boy's annoyance. "As soon as we find some evidence of Maric's latest movement, we'll turn our attention to helping Waterdeep, if we can. Is that sufficient?"

"I suppose so," Alain conceded.

"Good. Then the next thing is to find an inn, before it gets too dark. If things are as bad as that merchant says, I wouldn't want to be out on these streets at night."


	2. Fight in the Night

Fight in the Night

It wasn't until well after nightfall that the two found the only Inn with the money and manpower to stay in business, i.e., the Yawning Portal Inn. The situation in the city was much worse than the rumors flying about were; Captain Aseph's jaw would have dropped if he could see the state of the city now. The assassinations of nobles throughout the city had sent a ripple of terror throughout the city. Many houses were abandoned, as frightened citizens began a migration out of the former City of Splendors. The people still brave enough to stay in their homes locked their doors tight by dark, and there was little hope for the everyday traveler to find hospitality, in the current mood. Shops closed down earlier and earlier everyday, and the city guard seemed to be everywhere.

Alain closed the inn door behind him and turned to survey the room. It was fairly large, with a good number of patrons despite the current state of the city. Somehow, he doubted it was the quality of wine. There was safety in numbers, and the idea of the people banding together against some unknown threat seemed closer to the mark. He spotted an elven woman, a half-orc, and a halfling talking together in a corner, which served to confirm his thoughts. From the looks of their equipment, they were adventurers— it wasn't often that one would find such an eclectic mix of races in a mercenary band.

"I'll check us in. Are you thirsty?" Trey inquired from behind him. Alain turned, struggling to keep the smile from showing on his face. His teacher knew quite well how thirsty he was, as Alain had complained of his thirst at least three times during their walk through the city.

"Just a bit, Teacher. What will you be having, ale or wine?"

The corners of Trey's mouth twitched in amusement. It was common knowledge to Alain that Trey did not consume alcohol of any type, as it violated the oaths of abstinence he had taken to become a monk. _The mind of a monk must be as clear and still as a babbling brook in springtime. _"Not tonight, I think," Trey answered. "Just water is fine." He winked at his student, then walked toward the front desk, where a pretty, middle-aged woman was working.

Alain walked toward the bar in the corner, passing the front desk, where his teacher had already lapsed into a comfortable conversation with the woman. Alain was always amazed at how Trey could connect to people so well, breaking past the barriers of their suspicion easily. Distrust was always there for the wanderer, and it would be even worse here with the current situation. Despite this, the woman was now chatting as animatedly as a schoolgirl with Trey. Alain grinned ruefully to himself as he stepped up to the bar, where a burly dwarf was tending.

"What d'ye need, lad?" the dwarf asked, polishing a glass with a dirty rag.

"Two glasses of water, barkeep," Alain answered, and the dwarf promptly slammed two glasses of water on the counter, an expression of suspicion on his face.

"There ye be, stranger. Five gold." Alain paid the dwarf, realizing with a tinge of dismay that between him and his teacher, they only had twenty gold coins. This too, was in accordance with their vows of poverty. Alain regretted that vow the most, just because of the exorbitant amount of gold they could receive from selling the armor they had found on their quests. Trey's monetary restrictions kept them from having more than one hundred gold coins; all extra weapons or armor would not be sold, but given to those who needed it. Alain had no doubt that Trey would most likely be donating any extras in their inventory to the local armory nearby. That is, the ones still in business.

Alain found a small table in the corner of the pub, and took his seat. He finished his drink in one long swig, then noticed that the three adventurers he had noticed earlier were sitting quite close by. Their conversation, though low, could still be heard by the human, and he nursed his drink as he listened to the snatches of talk.

"…that one over there?" the half-orc questioned, indicating the subject with a nod of his head.

The elven woman shook her head, and Alain noticed that they were looking at Trey, who was still speaking to the receptionist. "No idea, Daelan. Just a run-of-the-mill treasure seeker, I suppose."

The halfling, his legs barely touching the ground, slammed his drink on the table, a look of incredulity on his face. "Y'mean ya don't know?"

Daelan looked at the halfling with equal parts puzzlement and disbelief and took another look at the bald man at the front desk. "Should we?"

The halfing shook his head incredulously, and pointed towards Trey. "That's!" he started, before noticing he was speaking too loud, and quieted his voice. "That's," he continued, "Trey Nefzen. Kept that city in the desert, Anarouchie or something, from rising up again!"

The elven woman started, obviously familiar with the story. "You mean the city of Undrentide, that was in the _Anarouch?_" she said pointedly, looking at the halfling. "Are you sure Tomi? That's the one responsible?"

Tomi nodded, pushing his chair back and putting his feet on the table, elaborating with the air of someone doing a great favor, "O'course I'm sure. I heard that it was him, and another (student or somethin', I'm not sure) that stopped the folk from raisin' the city. With their bare hands too, y'know, cuz they're monks. Then, before the crash, they got off somehow. I dunno how!" he said quickly, seeing the doubtful looks on his companions' face. "But I swear it's him."

Alain sat back in his chair, and didn't hear the answers of Tomi's friends. Unconsciously, his hand slipped into his pocket, fingering the cold, smooth metal of the Relic of the Reaper which he and Trey had acquired during their time in the Plane of Shadows. He remembered little of his time there; when he tried to, images of red-eyes shades and illusions of home came to him. Trey most likely remembered more, but when questioned, he only shook his head and told Alain to find some more firewood. Alain thought something huge must have happened there, for Trey to want to forget the memory completely. His teacher was usually a stickler for the old adage 'Learn from your mistakes.' The only thing Alain knew for sure was that the Relic of the Reaper was responsible for their escape, and that Trey did not trust the planar creature (_or in-between planes, as the Reaper says) _which inhabited it_. _So Alain was to keep it with him. Not that it was hard to, because you couldn't lose the damned thing.

Another thing that irked him was the fact that he was at most, an honorable mention, in their adventure in Undrentide. Pride was never an attractive characteristic, and completely unbecoming of one of his profession, but Alain could feel it rising within, and he got up, half-intending to go over to the trio and set his story straight. Instead, he took a deep breath, trying to release the green grip of jealousy on his mind, and decided to retire to bed. He passed by the three he had eavesdropped on, and suddenly felt sure that he would see those three again. When he did, he would show them that he wasn't some mindless hanger-on, but skilled in his own right!

Strange visions danced in his mind's eyes that night. He saw a dusky-skinned woman with snow-white air in black and crimson armor in some sort of throne room. The woman was speaking to something, or someone, that Alain couldn't see, but he could feel it, somehow: a malovelence that was dark and gleeful, like a very large and hungry dog behind a very flimsy fence. Alain saw himself and Trey, and before he could reflect on _that_ out-of-body experience, they were…

A searing heat against his left side awoke him, and his left hand clutched at it impulsively, finding the Relic of the Reaper, its metal already cooling. _What the Hells…that never happened before._ He lifted his head from the bed, his eyes squinting into the darkness of the room. Nothing amiss, nothing out of…

Someone was in the corner of the room, standing over his equipment chest. As Alain sat up, blinking sleep out of his eyes, his ears caught the muttered words of a spell, and it dawned on him what the thief was doing, a second before his chest disappeared. The sight of his chest vanishing at a few spoken words sparked him to action and wiped whatever drowsiness in his body away. He rolled out of bed and landed noiselessly. It was fairly dark, but this didn't bother him. He was unarmed, not even a dagger in his bed, and he was nearly naked, but he needed neither weapon nor armor. Ki was his weapon, and it had never failed him. He charged from the shadows, slamming his shoulder into the thief, whose slender body crashed into the door, shaking it on its hinges. The thief's hood had shifted, and Alain caught a flash of dark eyes shifting to a reddish color. _Infravision, which means elf, right? No, drow!_

The drow snarled, cursing him in a language he could not begin to understand, and unsheated a wicked-looking dagger, acid dripping from the tip. Inwardly, the drow cursed at her clumsiness. She had been teleported in, and had performed her task soundlessly. So why had the cursed male awoken? Nevertheless, she was obliged to perform her role and eliminate him, which would be an easy task, despite her surprise. What good was a male without a blade? She sprung to her feet and lunged out with her right, hoping to end the fight quickly.

All rational thoughts fell away. Instinct, cool and sure, replaced them. Alain, intuiting the attack, stepped to his right and inside the drow's reach. His left arm grasped her right wrist and twisted hard, while he used his momentum to deliver a right straight into the thief's nose, effectively disarming her. As the drow fell back a step, recovering from his strike, he flicked the dagger over his shoulder, where it clattered to the hardwood floor underneath his bed. The drow, recovering quickly, swiped a hand across her face, wiping the blood from her eyes, and aimed a kick toward his groin, hoping to incapacitate him and escape. Alain twisted his knee in front of his waist, taking the blow, then kicked out into the drow's chest, knocking her to the ground with a thud. The gleam of a dagger on his dresser caught his eye. Trey had placed it there the previous night with a laugh, saying that it was customary for the Inn to issue blades in the last few weeks. They had a good chuckle about it then, now it would save his life. Inwardly steeling himself for the finish, Alain smoothly lifted up the blade from the dresser's surface, then swung downward, almost kneeling as the blade punched into the drow's gullet, the enchanted blade slicing through her armor with a sickly-sounding _POP!_ The drow cried out in pain, trying to rise to her feet feebly, as her life-blood poured from the wound, before slumping back in death. Her eyes had locked onto his near the end, and he tore himself from her glassy eyes, her flow of blood slowing to a trickle. After all the battles he had fought, he still hated to see death. He would rather disarm than kill, but there was no choice here…right?

Trey burst into his room just then, and Alain looked up at him, glad to turn his mind away from the dying drow on the floor. Trey took in the situation in a few quick glances, then walked over the corpse to the bed, picking the Relic off of the bed, tossing it under-handed to Alain. "You alright?"

"Well enough," Alain answered, though a dozen questions had fought to escape from his mouth. "You?"

"A few scratches, nothing too bad." Alain could see a few nicks on Trey's forearm that went beyond the state of 'a few scratches.' The acid had left the skin pockmarked and badly burned. Though acid on the skin was fairly dangerous to anyone, Trey's Ki had protected him from the brunt of the damage. It was good to know that the energy surrounding them could repel the elements from their naked skin. The blade's poison, similiarly, would pose little threat to his constitution. Within a week, the worst of the burns would fade. Within a month, there would be little evidence of any scars.

Trey could see the questions in his student's eyes. He continued, "Did you happen to have a dream, right before you woke?"

Alain shook his head, puzzled. "I did. I saw a Drow woman, and she was talking to…something I couldn't see. Then the Relic burned me in my sleep, and I woke to see our visitor here."

"Huh. That's never happened before, has it?" Trey mused, but his tone was somewhat distracted and Alain could see he was deep in thought. _What did he dream about? _But the question he wanted to pose would have to wait, as the door opened once more. This time it was the innkeeper's daughter, Tamsil, her face shifting from mild worry to horror in an instant.

"Oh my word!" she exclaimed, bringing a hand to cover her mouth, lest it release any screams. Alain fidgeted, keenly aware of her disgust. It was not a clean kill, and that was due to the fact of how unfamiliar he was with a blade. Trey stepped forward, taking charge of the situation. Alain felt a keen sting of gratitude for his quick action.

"Is the inn under attack?" Trey questioned, trying to get the girl to pull her eyes away from the dead Drow on the floor.

"N-no, my lord. I came to your room because of the commotion I heard from downstairs…the only attack must have been centered on your rooms." It was with some difficulty that Tamsil's eyes rose from the body. Her hands had developed a slight shake to them, Alain noticed.

"But that doesn't make sense…We only just got to town! No one knows we're here yet, do they?" Alain blurted, and his confusion now mirrored that of Tamsil's, and she shook her head.

"The Drow stole our equipment, and we need replacement gear." Trey said, trying to bring the girl back to business matters. The girl's eyes were again riveted on the Drow, and he doubted she had ever seen a dead body. Her father's Inn wasn't the best place for such an awakening to the frailty of life. "Do you know where we can re-supply ourselves?"

Tamsil nodded, finally looking away from the corpse. "There's an armory my father keeps across the hall, free to anyone who needs it in the defense of the city. I know it isn't up to the quality to adventurers such as you, but it should be enough to support you until we can recover your equipment." She blushed, blood rushing to her forehead suddenly, and Alain guessed she had finally realized that the two of them were wearing nearly nothing. "Well, I should just… let you get dressed, milords…" She blushed again, and quickly excused herself, closing the door behind her. Alain smiled to himself, wondering whether she would faint from lack of blood if he had asked her to stay.

Trey sighed, turning to Alain and pointed towards the door. "Let's find that Armory, Alain. Then I think we better have a talk with Durnan about this." He opened the door and stepped out into the drafty hallway, and Alain followed after him.


	3. Ambush

_A few quick responses to reviewers._

_Silverscale: At this point, I'm not sure if there's going to be any romance/other genres in yet. I just pour out the story in my head and refine it as I go along._

_shadow0015: Thanks for the advice on the height, I'll try to edit that in the first Chapter. And as for Tamsil, most people probably never wonder what's going on in that l'il Innkeeper's daughter's head. _

_Thanks for the reviews!_

Ambush

They emerged from the Armory shortly, dressed in the few intact robes still left in the inventory. Trey guessed that most of the quality goods had been commandeered by the militia. All in all, the most valuable objects they had received from the armory were the spare rogue stones someone had tossed into one of the supply bags without a thought. He and Alain needed no weapons, their bodies would serve as that purpose. Their armor would be Ki, the spiritual force that nearly all beings possessed, not platemail. The Relic would save them from death… at least until the Rogue stones powering it were gone.

He had sent Alain downstairs to inform Durnan what had happened in the night, and the "messes" each had left on the floor of their rooms. Alain had easily outfought the thief in his room, Trey had a little more trouble. _That's what I get for storing our equipment in one chest. If it wasn't for that dream, then that assassin…_ Yes. Might as well tell the truth and shame the devil. That assassin would have killed him. As it was, they had grappled for a good five minutes before he gained the upper hand and ended her life by breaking her neck. Alain was young yet, and he still relied on brute strength rather than the subtler art of Ki. Under Trey's tutelage, his talents would grow…but he still had a long way to go.

As for the dream… the drow matriarch, or "Valsharess" (whatever that meant) had seen him as a threat. Why was that, when his mission had nothing to do with her own? Alain had seen little more than a snatch of the true message that Trey had witnessed, for whatever reason, but Trey intended to share as little as possible. His student was already anxious to lend their aid in Waterdeep's crisis, perhaps motivated to earn his place in his next 'Undrentide story'. Dreaming of Drow would not help to dissuade him from that.

Still…the dream had been startingly detailed, and even now it had not faded. He could still see the intricate stone carvings of spiders in that temple, the way the eyes of the matriarch's servants had darted to the ground when addressing her. Was it a vision?

He stepped into the common room for guests, which seemed woefully vacant. In earlier times, perhaps, the fire in the hearth would not be empty, but filled with a roaring, crackling fire, probably surrounded by children. The guests would sit together and gossip of recent events, each nursing a drink. Now, only two guests inhabited the room at the moment. One was an elderly man wearing a heavy plate of armor, a knight from the , Trey guessed. The other was a monk wearing a familiar. He nodded respectfully to the old man, then approached Cyphus. The aging disciple raised his head from his meditations, nodding in acknowledgement.

"Greetings, what can I do for y-," the monk began, before freezing in mid-sentence in recognition. "Trey! Is that-? It is you! What are you doing here?" He laughed in surprise, and Trey laughed with him, embracing his old friend.

"Cyphus, you haven't changed a bit, old man." Trey said. The two had studied together at the Temple before eventually growing apart and going their own ways. Even so, it was usually easy to recognize the plain brown robes that characterized one of the Open Palm. Smiling, Trey tapped a knuckle against Cyphus' rib cage. "Except, of course, in the weight category. A life of poverty, hm?"

Cyphus smirked and slapped the accusing hand away. "You must be mistaken, _youngster_. And you still haven't answered my question. You're a long way from Amn, aren't you?"

Trey sighed, bowing his head slightly. "It's not for the sights, my friend. Our thief was last seen in this region area. He has stolen a relic from one of the elders— an amulet treasured by Elder Quin. I have been commissioned to bring the thief to justice, if I can."

Cyphus started slightly, his eyes widening somewhat. "You do not mean the Godbreaker amulet?" When Trey simply nodded, the wizened disciple murmured an oath under his breath, bowing his head briefly. "How did that come to pass?" he demanded.

Trey waved a hand dismissively, pushing that matter to the side for the moment. There were more pressing things at hand. "We will speak on it later. I had a dream last night, Cyphus. I need you to tell me everything you know about the murders— no, assassinations here in Waterdeep."

Cyphus wiped a hand across his brow, sitting back down on his mat. He said nothing for several minutes, gathering his thoughts, and Trey waited patiently. Finally, he began to speak. "First, a thief enters the target's home, removing any weapons or forms of defense. An assassin follows afterward to perform the deed. The means of entry have been determined to be magical, as well as removal. But the city's mages have not yet been able to discover exactly how the drow can transport themselves all the way to the surface, nor have they been able to block their magic. The gates to Waterdeep were sealed late last night, and the city is in a state of lockdown. No one can leave or enter the city without express permission. Chances are…if your thief is here, the militia will find him

"No," Trey said quietly, "they won't. Thank for the help Cyphus." Trey tried to smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "May the wind always be at your back."

"And yours, my friend." whispered Cyphus, as Trey exited the common room. "The gods protect you."

XxXxXxX

Alain groaned in frustration, flopping into a seat in the center of the bar. The people here— refugees, really— had been stuck inside the bar when the order to close the streets had been passed late last night. They were separated from their family at home, and many of them considered the bar the worst possible place to be, as it was sitting atop the Undermountain. None of them, however, knew where Durnan was, which was the source of Alain's annoyance. _Why, O Gods, why did we get trapped in the only Inn in the city with a monster zoo beneath it? I'll probably have to fend off drow assassins every night… for months. _

When Trey descended down the staircase a half-hour later, Alain brightened. If anyone could get them out of here, it was his teacher. His good mood abruptly evaporated again, when four adventurers (three of them the half-orc, elf, and Halfling he had seen before) mobbed Trey before he took three steps forward. Alain moaned aloud, slouching in his seat and propping an elbow on the table to support his chin. _More fans of the Hero of Undrentide, I guess? Just wonderful._ "Anyone want my autograph?" He asked aloud, very sarcastically. No one heard him in the noisy room.

"Do I count?" a quiet voice asked of him, and Alain straightened, a little embarrassed. To make things worse, the speaker began to chuckle at his reaction, and Alain felt a flicker of anger run through him. He turned towards the speaker.

"I don't usually count eavesdroppers." Alain said, looking hard at the stranger. He was a lithe looking man with raven hair and piercing blue eyes. He was dressed as a commoner, and Alain guessed him to be a citizen of Waterdeep, another refugee. "Who're you anyway?"

"Marcus Englethorpe, at your service. And I already know who you are. Alain Johns, right? You stopped that Undrentide madness!" Marcus was looking at him closely.

"Well…" Alain began, a little put-off at having his wish for attention granted so quickly. "It wasn't just me, I just helped my teacher…"

"Nonsense!" Marcus said loudly, overriding Alain's excuses. "Don't be so modest! There's no way that old man could have done it all on his own. Not that he's not skilled in his own right!" Marcus said quickly, noticing Alain's eyes narrow at the phrase "old man." "I'm just saying I could paint a much worthier picture of Undrentide with you, not him."

"What are you, some kind of bard?" Alain said, ignoring the blatant disrespect Marcus had shown his teacher for the moment. The man had seemingly spoken aloud many of the slights Alain had felt with every retelling of the tale. Undrentide was one of the oldest cities in the world, inhabited by one of the oldest civilizations known to man, once upon a time. It had been powered by magic, and centuries ago, it had floated above the clouds...until the hubris of man had caused otherwise. Pride came before the fall, it was just as true as they say. It had lain in ruins, lost in the Anarouch, its secrets and baubles lost to time…until a medusa by the name of Heurodis had found the means to lift the city again. It had been Alain and Trey, whether by fate or chance, who had managed to slay the shaman before she could follow through on her plot. The two had worked as a team, and yet it was Alain who was the forgotten one, the loyal henchman to Trey's hero. Marcus, at least, knew the score.

"That's exactly right, my good man. A bard of some renown, I might say. But if I could get the _real _story behind Undrentide first-hand, then all the land would recognize me. Whaddya say, friend?" Marcus asked, a large grin on his face. Alain couldn't help liking him. He had charm and ambition, and most of all, he sought truth. Truth of a different sort, anyways.

"Unfortunately, I would have to give you the abridged version. Trey and I hope to leave the city; hopefully the Lords of Waterdeep will allow us to go."

"I kind of doubt that, my lad. But if you are leaving, where are you headed?" Marcus asked, leaning forward, pulling out a piece of parchment from his back pocket.

"Alain! To me!"

Alain stood up, hearing Trey's voice. Trey was by the doorway, and waved him over. Alain turned to the bard to excuse himself, but found thin air. The bard had either used some sort of invisibility spell, or was a master of the quick exit. A small piece of parchment was on the table, and he picked up. At the top were the initials **M.E.**, followed by a small rune he couldn't identify. Alain stuffed it into his pocket, following a whim, and slipped his way through the crowded room of the doorway.

Trey looked at him curiously, then shrugged, and opened the door, where a large group of adventurers were gathered in the middle of the foyer. The crowd parted as he approached, and he caught a few whispers from the back, wondering who he was. Durnan, a sturdy, fair-skinned man stood in the middle of the group with his arms crossed. He was a former adventurer rumored to have survived the Undermountain in his glory days, and was well respected nonetheless. He took them both in with his cool gaze, and Alain could see worry in his eyes, but also determination, set in his face like steel. This was not a man to be trifled with

"Good to see you finally get here," Durnan said, his low rumbling voice emanating from his chest like the pounding of a drum. Alain decided not to mention the fact that he had looked for the man for a half-hour, to no avail. "I trust your accommodations were sufficient?"

"Service wasn't bad, but I don't remember ordering the Drow." Alain said with a straight face. The halfling, Tomi, sniggered, and the corner of Trey's mouth twitched. Durnan, however, looked angry enough to spit.

"There was a time when I could guarantee my guests' safety, but no longer. Thankfully, you both awoke in time, before matters had gotten worse. To date, you're the only ones to survive an attack. Drow raiding parties have beset the city, and the Undermountain seems to be the source."

Alain cursed inwardly. With the city shut in, and Drow running about, the chances of their leaving was slim to none. He snapped out of his own thoughts to hear his teacher asked what Durnan planned to do.

"The Lords of Waterdeep have commissioned me to lead a party down into the Undermountain, to find Halaster. The well in the basement is magical in nature, and it will allow us to travel to the depths of the Undermountain. From there, we can attempt to find the mad mage, and maybe close up the source of these Drow. In return, the Lords of Waterdeep have set a reward of 100,000 gold pieces." Trey noticed several adventurers' stunned faces from behind Durnan. Obviously, this was news to the locals as well.

Trey nodded, already knowing what he would say. It wasn't his mission, but he had to help the people here. There was little chance Maric was here, with the city locked up and rampaging Drow about. Maric would have smelled danger on the winds, and fled. If he hadn't… well, he wasn't worried about Maric.

He was worried about anyone confronting Maric.

"My student and I will do what we can to help, Durnan. The attempted attack on our lives is proof enough to me that we are somehow involved in all of this." Alain nodded, feeling the same. It was likely that for as long as they stayed in the city, the attacks would continue. If they were going to fight Drow, then they might as well get something accomplished as well. "Still," Trey continued, "One thing worries me. If Halaster is behind all of this, how are supposed to defeat him? His mastery of the arcane rivals none, does it not? I have a suspicion that Halaster has little to do with the attacks on Waterdeep."

"A valid point, Trey." Durnan conceded. "But we'll never know until we start, won't we? Now, the first order of business is-" There was an unearthly humming sound which seemed to shake the Inn to its rafters, and Durnan paused mid-sentence.

All was quiet for a few seconds, when a small voice spoke up, "Father, what _was _that?" Tamsil came out from the kitchen, a shocked expression on her face.

"It came from the basement..." Durnan said with a dazed expression on his face. It quickly changed to horror, as the same realization leapt into the head of nearly everyone present. Two seconds later, a large ball of flame shot from the door of the basement with a hiss. The searing sphere of heat collided with one of the bar tables and exploded, showering the room with pieces of scorched wood and deafening them. Several people screamed, and the orderly gathering turned into a panicked rush towards the stairs. Following that, a bolt of lightning sprang from the gloom, striking one man before jumping to two others, killing them instantly. Alain grimaced, setting his jaw. The faces of the victim's had cooked like sausages over the flame, and they were barely recognizable.

"Rally to me!" Durnan cried, and a few adventurers unsheathed their weapons and stood around, ready for whatever came next. Among them, Alain saw the group that had mobbed Trey earlier. He took a position on the left flank of the group, while Trey stood on the right. From the basement door burst a Drow raiding party. Dark-skinned dwarves ran to the corners, fitting poison bolts onto their crossbows. Drow soldiers in full military regalia came out next, surrounding three drow females. _Two sorcerers, one handmaiden, six Drow, three Duergar, two rogues, _Trey counted quickly._ Not good._

"All will fall before the Valsharess!" the handmaiden cried, as the two mages next to her muttered incantations. One summoned a sphere of blackest night, which fell over the bulk of the group. The other wizard cast what Trey recognized to be a spell of holding, his fingers glowing jet blue briefly. He could sense rather than see the people around him stiffening unnaturally, their movements halted. The soldiers grinned wickedly and charged into the dark, ready to hack the hapless humans to pieces.

The only thing that prevented them from being turned into bloody chunks of meat on the floor, was the fact that there were so many of them. Hold Person is a spell best used on a single target; being used on so many people lessened its innate power greatly. As a result, Trey felt feeling return to his body at the same time the sphere of darkness fell over them. It was utterly black, he couldn't make out his hand in front of his face. Luckily, he was no stranger to being blind; their time in the Shadow Plane was not entirely forgotten. Trey closed his eyes and focused his ears for the slightest sounds. The trademark sounds of a killing blow was the straining muscles in an arm raising to strike, the rustle of chainmail, the intake of breath.

A swarthy Duergar, holding an intimidating warhammer, spotted the boy with his eyes closed, and grinned to himself. Was the poor little human crying to whatever pagan gods he worshipped to be saved? He charged the robed man quickly, not bothering with stealth, and raised his warhammer. He ground his teeth and swung hard, a sweeping sideways blow that would have fell any opponent twice his size. On this target, the warhammer would easily cave in the man's ribcage like a cheap copper goblet.

CLAK!

Trey had focused his Ki in the palms of his hands and reached out, sensing the rushing air of the hammerblow aimed at his head. Luckily, the head of the warhammer had landed squarely into his palm. The collected Ki lessened the impact considerably, though Trey's arms bent to absorb the shock of the blow. Any less, and he would've smashed every bone in his hands.

He yanked the warhammer from the dumbstruck Duergar easily, and dropped it behind him without a second look. Then, before his opponent could react, his left fist darted out, smashing into the Duergar's chin in a stunning cross. The soldier staggered, his eyes blank and jaw broken. The monk whirled and fell low to the floor, slamming a leg into the Duergar's knees from behind. Off balance, the Duergar stumbled backward, then fell heavily to the ground.

A muttered incantation from behind dispelled the darkness, and he whipped around. Linu was already deep in concentration as she called upon her godess for another spell. Alain spotted a Duergar rogue in the corner of the room, fitting a crossbow bolt, and taking aim at the elf from behind.

"Look out!" he shouted desperately. From his current position, there was no way he could reach her in time. The rogue grinned grimly, and fired the bolt. Alain braced himself for the sight of seeing a comrade die in front of him, until a brown hand shot out, plucking the deadly projectile from the air. Trey tossed the bolt to the ground, and turned to him, mouthing one word: _Spellcasters_. He made a violent motion to Alain, urging him to push on, before rushing toward the hapless Duergar rogue, deflecting another bolt as he charged.

The pair knew their roles, and knew them well. Alain was typically the aggressor while his teacher followed in his wake, covering him from potential counterattacks. What Alain lacked in situational awareness, he more than made up for in combat prowess. Despite his feelings of being overlooked for his master, there was also an implicit trust that his teacher would watch his back.

The sound of battle seemed impossibly loud, and his head swam as he searched for the Drow females. He spotted them, finally, in the corner of the room. Only one shaman, and the handmaiden. He spotted the other wizard sprawled across one of the tables, an arrow jutting from his throat. The drow priestess was on her knees, casting what appeared to be a prayer of protection on the handmaiden. The latter was casting spells to devastating effect on the warriors. If they weren't taken out of the equation soon, the battle would be lost. Alain sprinted toward them quickly, his approaching form overlooked in the confusion of the melee. For a time, at least: he was still at least ten feet away when the handmaiden locked eyes with him. With a contemptuous snort, she began the incantations for a new spell, the unearthly intonations a prelude to a different kind of defensive spell. As the drow cleric's murmurs finished, a series of very sharp and very numerous blades burst from the dirty floorboards of the tavern, directly beneath the monk and his targets. From behind the barrier, Alain could see the rather confident smirk on the dark elf's face as she began another spell.

Trey would have urged caution; would have found another way to circumvent the spell. But the handmaiden's confidence rankled Alain, and it was perhaps that, most of all, that urged him forward. He gathered a loose collection of Ki like a man grasping a handful of sand and threw himself into a flying dropkick as he reached the edge of the barrier, wrapping his hands tightly around his neck. The blades ripped into his flesh, only mildly inconvencied by the Ki, and surely Tymora must have found favor with him, as none of the blades found his heart or severed his spine. It was well worth the risk to the young ascetic, however, just to see the look on his foe's face as his dropkick found the kneeling priestess' chin. There was a dull crunch and a brief cry of pain as the drow was sent flying back, and she did not rise again.

"Damnable rivvil!" she shrieked at him as the spells protecting her faded. She took a heavy swing at his head with her mace. The bleeding monk rolled at the very last moment, and the blow aimed for his skull clipped his right shoulder instead. A spear of pain immobilized him as the handmaiden raised her mace again, bloodlust in her dark eyes. It very well might have been the end of the road for Alain, until a twin pair of daggers punched holes into the woman's lungs. She gasped, a trickle of blood running down her ebony lips, before falling forward on the ground, dead. Alain gaped in shock, as Tomi withdrew his daggers from the corpse, and swiped a bloody hand across his brow, tipping him a wink. He leapt over the fallen monk and ran towards the basement, shouting as he did. "C'mon! Let's chase 'em all the way home!"

The Drow flew down the basement steps like bats out of hell, and the adventurers took chase. The assault had turned into a rout. Rather than caskets of wine and the occasional rat, Trey found that the basement resembled the mouth of a cave more than anything else. Beyond the stairwell, the rocky stone extended perhaps thirty yards or so before coming to an abrupt end, with only a narrow extension of rock leading up to the entrance of a well, which was currently blocked off. Several of the remaining Drow females disappeared (_or teleported,_ Trey guessed) in a flash of light upon reaching the edge of the pit. The drow males were not so fortunate, and uponreaching the well entrance, turned and fought desperately. Outnumbered and without the tactical advantage of surprise, the soldiers were quickly slaughtered by the onslaught of cleric spells and enchanted weapons.

Trey stunned one hapless Drow with a foot to the face, and Daelan Red Tiger finished the foe with his axe, nearly beheading the soldier. This battle was over much quicker than the one upstairs, but Trey couldn't help but feel a little unnerved by that fact. The Drow had come on strong with their attack, but why didn't they flee out into the city once the tide turned? Instead, they had driven themselves into a corner...

Trey barely heard Durnan's words as he mused over his thoughts, his eyes boring into the impenetrable darkness of the wall abyss. He was no tactician, but it wasn't a hard train of thought to follow. _The Luskan army sends a raiding party into the enemy base. They allow themselves to be pushed back into a corner. Then… an attack from behind? _Trey turned toward the basement steps, a dawning fear falling over him that his musings would turn out to be prophecy… but there was no one at the door. _Getting the jitters, or something, I guess. Nobody here but us._ His thoughts were abruptly interrupted when a searing bolt of pain caught him in the lower back. He felt a black rage sweep over him, anger beyond anything he had ever felt. He turned to attack, but his legs felt like jelly.

An eldritch abomination of sunken flesh, rolling eyeballs and horribly sharp teeth had risen up out of the blackness only seconds after Trey had glanced away. This was a beholder, one of the most feared creatures of the Underdark, and its appearance stunned the group into silence. The momen's hesitation was all that the creature needed. Its eye-stalks wavered and shook; its teeth gnashed and it promptly bombarded the party with its eye-rays. This particular beholder had been charged with a mission. _Anger them_, the drow had told it. _Incite them into a fury, so that they come charging down, right into our hands. _Its eye-rays were designed to inflict confusion and sow disarray among its targets. Then, in the space of a breath, the abomination dropped back into the darkness and out of sight. Hopefully, the adventurers would come down the well, and chase the beholder right into a Drow ambush. The bloated beholder snarled and licked its lips, eye-stalks wagging furiously. What a feast the victims would be!

Of the collection of adventurers that lay stunned or dead in the brief attack, it was Daelan, Alain, Linu and Tomi which stirred first and behaved exactly as planned. Ignoring their wounds, the four ran onto the well platform, and pulled a small lever. The magical well descended into the depths of the Undermountain, thousands and thousands of feet below the Yawning Portal Inn, leaving the others behind.

The descent seemed to go on forever, and only the THWUMP of the platform touching down on the ground signaled their entrance into the Undermountain. There was no sign of their quarry, but the quartet charged forward as one. Daelan bashed his way through a steel door— the entrance to mad Halaster's Undermountain— and their steps echoed down the stone corridor, where the awaiting drow took their positions. When the four rounded the corner, a volley of Drow arrows came to meet them.

Daelan the half-orc warrior, as mighty as he was, went down in the first volley. His hastiness placed him in the fore, and at least eight arrows embedded themselves in his sturdy frame. Daelan's companions were luckier. The remaining three adventurers ran past the Drow warriors without the slightest interest in counterattacking, each focused on finding the beholder. Upon reaching an intersection, they scattered in different directions like mice in a maze.

The Drow leader of this particular warband, a male by the name Tenari, ordered his group to hold. There would be plenty of time to take sport in tracking the enraged, spellbound surfacers as they sought a foe that could not be found. A bonus would go to the one that slew the elf. But for now, they would find a small side-corridor, take stock of their losses and rest.

It was the pain of his injured shoulder which finally served to snap Alain out of his rage, and he slowed mid-step to look around. He was in the middle of a stone corridor that seemed to stretch on in both directions. He had no idea where he was, and no inkling of what had happened after being attacked by the beholder. He was still bleeding pretty badly from the drow skirmish and his shoulder was fractured, possibly broken.

Worst of all, he was lost. Lost in the Undermountain.


	4. Wandering

Wandering

Trey tightened his belt, his eyes growing used to the deepening gloom as the magical well of the Yawning Portal Inn descended. He double-checked his bag for the rod of Resurrection that the flirty cleric of Sune had given him, and stopped himself from triple-checking, trying to regain his composure. Things had gone wrong since his first step into Waterdeep, like some kind of curse. No sign of Maric, the attack on their lives, the closing of the gates, and now, his student lost to Undermountain. At least Alain held the Relic, so death wouldn't be a problem. Until he ran out of Rogue Stones that is…

The past two hours had slipped away as they only seem to do during an emergency. Both he and Durnan had survived the eye-rays of the beholder through the aid of White Thesta, and were dismayed to find that the other adventurers had fled. A search of the premises had narrowed the destination to only one place: the Undermountain. Trey instantly volunteered to go down into the dark after them. In truth, he could care less about the others; his main purpose was to find Alain. Everything else was strictly secondary. He had gathered his bearings and descended with the Rod, which Thesta claimed would restore life to the lifeless, so long as they wished to return from the paths beyond.

_Naïve of me to hope that I won't need it…_

The shaft ended on a small plateau of rock. Further down, a passageway of sorts led towards the Undermountain proper. A steel doorway flanked by two torches was to be his welcome mat. Trey stepped off of the well's platform, scanning the area as he strode towards the entrance. His ears caught the clatter of loose stone, and the source of the disturbance soon revealed itself. A pitiful-looking goblin shuffled out from the shadows. The goblin held no weapon, and its obvious desire to parley was obvious to Trey before he even heard the creature's first mewling words.

"Nice hooman! You is not working for anyone maybe? Not pixies, not ogres, no one? Yes, no, maybe?" The goblin whispered, bowing low in a subservient manner. The goblin was a pathetic looking thing; the stained rags it used as a loincloth hung off its emaciated frame.

"I serve only myself, and I have come seeking other humans, that came here about two hours ago. Do you know of them?" Trey asked, watching the creature warily. Despite his belief that this goblin posed no threat, goblins were notorious tricksters. If the creature wanted him to follow it somewhere, he would slay the creature and move on. He had had too many ambushes in the last two days.

"Grovel knows, Grovel knows many things. But maybe you helps Grovel first? Hmm?" The goblin said, eyeing him slyly.

"What exactly do you want? Speak, for I must move swiftly." Trey said, glancing towards the doorway again. The more time he wasted here, the less likely it was that he would find Alain alive. Pixies, ogres, both meant little to him, besides the fact there was most likely some kind of massive war that the goblin had been drafted into.

Grovel gulped nervously, interpreting Trey's words as a threat. Living in the Undermountain was a death sentence in itself, however, and it plowed on with all the conviction it could muster. "Grovel is tired of living here. The mad mage is gone, and stupid creatures here fighting with each other, free from his magics. If you gets Grovel out of here, then Grovel tells you where humans went." It was the most the goblin had spoken in some time, and he fell silent, watching the human carefully for any sudden aggression. Running was one thing Grovel was good at. Running meant survival

Trey spent all of thirty seconds considering the goblin's preposition. He didn't have a clue where to look, and if the goblin could give him a lead… "Deal. Speak." He ordered urgently.

"Grovel saw the hoomans come down from above. Grovel hids, and the hoomans come running inside. Grovel follows. Humans kept running, then nasty dark elfies shoot arrows. Orc man gets hit, other humans run." Grovel spoke haltingly, and Trey fleetingly wondered where a goblin had learned the Common tongue. Maybe he was some kind of translator for his tribe, or some effect of Halaster's magic affected his linguistic ability. Nevertheless, the goblin's information was useful, and Trey nodded his assent.

"You've kept your word, and so bind me to mine," Trey said. Grovel brightened visibly, a toothy grin flashing from the emaciated face. Trey bid the goblin to take the platform to the Inn above, and explained his purpose quickly, before wisahing the goblin good luck. The platform trembled with a second crank of the lever, and then steadily rose up towards the surface. Grovel waved down at him, and Trey turned his back on the platform, starting to descend down the rock slope towards the door once more.

As he came up towards the door, he crouched, noticing footsteps which ended at the entrance. The dirt had been driven against the stone, making the prints visible in the dim light given from the torches. He took this as a good sign, pulling open the heavy door with some effort, and slipping inside before the door slammed shut again.

The slam of the door and the stuffiness of the air gave him the sensation of being locked inside a tomb. He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and proceeded cautiously. As he turned the corner, he heard a small click as he put his right foot down and jumped to his left instinctively. A split-second later, an electrical trap triggered, a hidden patch of floor glowing a blinding white as thousands of volts came to life over the surface. He grunted, shielding his eyes from the flash. Alain was no lockspringer and trapper, and he had no hope of disarming the innumerable snares that must have awaited him. He had, however, gotten used to avoiding them— if only by the skin of his teeth. He moved more quickly down the corridor, fearful that the trap could attract unwelcome visitors. He was almost at the mouth of the passageway when he came upon the first victim of Undermountain: Daelan Red Tiger, the barbarian from Neverwinter he had met briefly upstairs. His body had been stripped of armor and weapons expertly, no doubt by the drow. Dried blood marked the places where the arrows had punched through, and the half-orc's face wore a horribly pained expression.

Trey took some solace in the fact that Alain did not lie here as well and immediately crushed it.

He pulled the rod of Resurrection from his bag, frowning slightly, then aimed it at the body and spoke the word of command. A great gasping sound was heard; Daelan's eyes fluttered and he coughed twice convulsively, jerking upwards and patting at his chest like a man from a dream.

"W-where am I? W-who are you?" She blurted out in a rush, her eyes flicking side to side in bewilderment. Resurrection was a hard business. After death, a person's spirit naturally left the body to wander towards whatever plane would be their final resting place: with their gods if they were fortunate, and darker places if that was not the case. As the spirit travels, the memories and emotions of past life begins to fade. Only the power of the spell had been able to call Sharwyn's spirit back from the beyond, and into the flesh. Now the memories were slowly coming back.

Still, part of Trey wondered if he would have been better off just leaving him there and continuing the search.

XxXxXxXx

At that moment, some twenty miles away in the northern tunnels of the Undermountain, Alain was running for his life. The layout of the Undermountain was confusing. Dead-end passages and twisting turns were the main attributes, not to mention the strange portals scattered around the dungeon. Alain didn't dare leap into those, fearing being stranded on some Gods-forsaken plane. Instead, he had been trying to find the way back towards the surface, and, deceived by the fresher air which seemed to be wafting from the northern tunnels, went in that direction. But all the young student found were orc and ogre patrols. He had avoided two such patrols already, being lucky enough to hear them coming. The third patrol he had stumbled onto in a stroke of bad luck that Beshaba would be proud of, and acid-soaked darts whizzed after him as the patrol took pursuit.

_Almost there…_ He turned down a hallway that looked all the same as any of the others, and sprinted down the corridor, his pained shoulder creaking in protest. Finally, he found what he was looking for: a small indentation of rock which held a stone statue of a man on his knees, a blade clutched in its grip. He inhaled a last gulp of air and jumped over the patch of floor in front of it. Then he pressed against the wall, trying to hide, and see if his plan succeeded.

The Orcs were much slower in their armor but their tracking skills made up for their speed. Alain tensed as they followed the dripping trail of blood he had left behind, waiting for the moment of truth. As the patrol passed the statue, an arcing bolt of electricity exploded from its torso. The deadly bolt tore through the entire patrol, their armor acting as conductors for the electricity. A sour, rancid smell rose from their corpses and Alain winced as he stepped out from the shadows, and wiped his brow with an arm. His plan had worked perfectly, but he was still no closer to escape.

Trey may have been raised in the monastery, but Alain had come upon the disciples of the Open Palm quite by accident. In the past five years, he had learned much of unarmed combat and the nature of Ki, but he had also never forgotten his other talents— spotting traps, 'loosening' locks and 'acquiring' treasure. Trey had been rather strict on how he utilized these abilities now that he was his teacher, but here, it had saved his life. He had nearly stumbled upon the pressure plate activating the trap on his first pass through this area, and it was only by chance that he had spotted it before it was too late.

Fortunately for him, the trap had proved deadly for the Orcs. Unfortunately, he couldn't loot the corpses for fear of being electrocuted, nor use that trick again on the next group of Orcs, because their dead kinsmen (_kinsOrc) _would give it away. All in all, Alain had come out of the encounter no better and no worse.

His wandering brought him unexpectedly to a dead-end passage, with one of the numerous portals that dotted the dungeon in front of him. His shoulder throbbed methodically, but at least his blood had clotted over somewhat. Abruptly, he decided to enter the portal. Where could the portal take which was worse than where he already was? _Plenty,_ a pessimistic corner of his mind warned him. _Wanna see the Shadow Plane again? Go ahead, jump in! You'll just die faster than you will here!_ He drowned that part of his mind out and, taking a deep breath, stepped into the portal.

A sensation, not pain exactly, but close to it, ran up and down his spine like wildfire. A strange feeling of being disconnected fell over him, like his mind was traveling while his body stayed in the same position. Images blurred in front of his eyes? Mind? He wasn't sure anymore. He saw pixies fighting Orcs, he saw a sea of lava licking the edge of molten rock shores. He saw a glimpse of Drow soldiers doing battle with orcs, he saw a room of many mirrors, and, briefly, saw his teacher, Trey, speaking with someone else. _Teacher!_ he called, though he had no voice, and he fancied he saw the man flinch, as if he heard him. His heart rejoiced, and then the vision was gone. Quite suddenly, the whirlwind trip was over, and he took a look around. There was no real difference between the halls he had left behind and the halls he stood in now. But then again, he had no idea where he was (_Again_, the pessimist crowed) or where Trey was… only that the monk was here somewhere. But what could he do? Travel the halls screaming at the top of his lungs, and get devoured by some hungry monster around the corner? Sit on the floor and wait to be found? The answer was obvious.

Alain closed his eyes and stuck out his hand, index finger pointing into space. He turned counter-clockwise three times quickly, then stopped and opened his eyes. His finger now pointed towards an empty corridor, leading west. Alain lowered his hand and started to walk down the corridor, his eyes watching the corners. The answer was picking a direction and hoping for the best.

He crept around the corner cautiously, peeking from behind before exposing his whole body, and maybe that was why he saw the Drow scout two seconds before the scout spotted him. The scout, a female, wore grey leather armor and carried a small crossbow, but was better equipped for escape than combat. It was pure luck that Alain had saw the scout first, or else he would have shot twice before he could have taken three steps. As it was, the Drow still had time to fire a hasty shot at him, as he flattened behind the corner and cursed mentally. Orcs were one thing, a crack team of Drow was quite another.

He risked another look around the corner, and gasped aloud. The scout had turned, and was now sprinting down the hall. Obviously, she didn't know that Alain was alone, and if he followed, he would meet the entire group of Drow. The Drow, expecting a party of humans and finding only one unarmed one, would either kill him or capture him. If he didn't follow, the Drow would come back with more, and then they would _know_ he was alone. He knew he couldn't hope to defend against a Drow ambush; it was pure chance that he had some forewarning this time.

Alain sighed. There was no choice here, not truly. _My arm is going to fall off, with all of this running. _

XxXxXxX

Trey watched as Daelan took the path he had walked to enter the Undermountain, and wished him well. His memories had returned after some prompting on the monk's part and a few pointed questions. The barbarian had offered to join in his goal, but Trey had refused, thinking it more likely the man would only get in his way. Gallantry, while noble, would get them nowhere. The half-orc was a sitting duck with no weapons, no armor, and no rest, and five minutes into his search, Trey would likely be resurrecting her yet again. Worse yet, he had learned little of the others' whereabouts. Daelan's account of the events after the beholder attack confirmed his earlier musings: the adventurers had run straight into an ambush. The axe-wielder had seen the others running in different directions before Death claimed him. The Drow had then stripped him, and apparently vanished into thin air?

The only lead he had were the drow. If he could find them, isolate one of their soldiers and interrogate them, maybe he could learn where Alain was. Or, at the very least, their method of entering the Undermountain. But at the moment it was a pipe dream.

His travel was slow, ponderously slow, as he concentrated on picking up the trail of the drow. But it was a fruitless effort. His tracking skills were under-developed, and the drow were masters at covering their trails during a hasty retreat. He was almost ready to despair from looking for disturbed dust on the ground, when his eyes caught a glitter of metal, half-buried in the dirt. He advanced towards the gleam cautiously, fearing a trap, but as he drew closer, he recognized the shine of metal to be the head of a mace. The weapon seemed familiar, and racking his brain, he found a face to the weapon: Linu, the elven cleric from Neverwinter, had carried such a weapon. He lifted the weapon slowly from the ground, turning it over in his hands, and noticed elvish script near the handle.

The language was indecipherable, but it meant he was on the right track… to some degree. After all, it was unlikely that Linu would willingly drop arms if she was on the run from drow, which meant that the elven woman had been slain or captured. Either way, he might be closer to the Drow than he thought. He dropped the weapon back into the dust and moved on, coming to a three-way intersection. Trey studied the passages with some doubt, then chose the rightmost path at random, going with his dominant hand.

He sniffed the air carefully as he crept along carefully. He had expected the passage to be foul-smelling, with the long-gone presence of animal dung and rotting meat. Instead, the passage smelled was utterly devoid of any odor. He stepped onto a cleft of rock, a small irregularity in the flat stone floor, and a sense of alarm buzzed down his spine. He froze in place, his hands balled into fists, waiting for something, _anything_, to happen. All he heard was the seemingly ominous silence that permeated the cavern. He continued down the path, and the sense of alarm grew instead of fading. A large arch seemed to loom from the end of the corridor, and he couldn't seem to see into the hall beyond. He warily approached the arch, his unease growing. Some sort of enchantment had been cast on the arch, and no matter how he squinted, all he could make out beyond the arch was the vague shape of a room. The arch was carved out of some kind of black, formless stone. When he touched the stone, it left a bizarre, sticky grey liquid on his fingers, and gave to his touch. He hastily wiped the fluid on the bottom of his shoe, hoping fervently that it wasn't some kind of acid.

Trey braced himself, then stepped forward through the arch, even as his instincts screamed at him to turn away and try another path. He closed his eyes and shut his mouth as he passed, hearing a faint, tinny ringing between his eyes as he did. The ringing began to fade, as if the sound was moving away from him, and he opened his eyes, fearing the worst. Had he been transported to another plane, another section of the Undermountain, to the Valsharess herself?

The sight that met his blinking eyes was quite the opposite. It was indeed a room, some sort of enclave set to the side of the main dungeon, and at the moment, filled with drow. The dark elves mobilized with an alarming speed despite his sudden appearance, and they were now lined up in battle formation before him. Trey's hands tightened into fists, setting his feet, as a lone drow clad in glittering red and black adamantine armor stepped out from the formation. His features were hard and his eyes musing— Trey felt as if he was some new beast being studied by one who cares very little for beasts, or for studying. The warband leader studied the human closely, then nodded to himself, and waved a hand over his shoulder.

"It's the one the Valsharess wants. Take him alive, but kill him if it makes trouble," the Drow said. Trey, of course, heard none of this— only the somewhat harsh syllables of Deep Speech.

The Drow group, made up of archers which were grouped in the back of the assembly, and stout Duergar soldiers in the front, visibly relaxed, clearly expecting more than an unarmed human. This is who the Valsharess feared? Two Duergar drew their weapons and moved forward to subdue him.

The ascetic could see the dim amusement in their glittering eyes— they would make some sport of out capturing him. They were complacent from the easy conquests of a few hapless humans, and expected him to be no different. When the duergar were still a few feet away, he tensed, focusing his Ki into an edge surrounding his right hand. The grouped Ki became visible as a grey "aura", and as the greyskins paused, the monk lunged forward. His extended palm slashed in a horizontal movement, his hand meeting the armor of the Duergar, and then cutting through like a hot blade through butter. The Quivering Palm technique, though requiring great concentration and study, could slice through flesh and bone easily. The energy used to sever another's life required a vast deal of Ki, and most monks dared using the ability once per day, if at all. Trey cut down two Duergar in one smooth motion, separating the soldiers' bodies into two, straight across their hips and spine. The two dark dwarves didn't even have time to scream, as their top halves thumped to the floor with a meaty thud. His hand emerged from the second Duergar's side with nary a drop of blood staining it, the grey aura surrounding it gone. As he did, he felt his focus slip from him, his perception dimming. He moved smoothly past the corpses, charging the rest of the group with the speed of some terrible predator.

The drow, stunned by the nature of the monk's opening attack, recovered quickly. The archers opened fire as the remaining infantry closed in. The human was quicker, deflecting two arrows, a ghost of Ki encompassing his hand, then pulling a stout duergar on his left into the trajectory of the third. The enchanted arrow punctured the back of the unlucky soldier's neck, killing him instantly. Trey withdrew the blood-soaked arrow from the duergar's neck with a squelch, and then shoved the corpse towards the next approaching warrior. To the greyskin's credit, it barely served to slow him down, as he bashed his dead kin out of the way with the hilt of his axe. It was all the time Alain needed. He shoved the point of the arrow into the soft jelly of the Duergar's left eye, and the soldier howled piteously, dropping his axe and trying to remove the projectile. The third soldier cursed the monk in a gratingly foreign tongue and swung the axe in a hard sweeping arc towards his midsection. Trey stepped backwards quickly, nearly tripping over the corpse of the first Duergar, then moved into the wake of the axe-swing. He reached out with both hands, grabbing the Duergar's axe hand above and below the elbow. He gritted his teeth, summoning his strength and his Ki as he placed the butt of his palm below the dwarf's elbow, simultaneously pulling with his other arm. The armor surrounding the arm splintered, then shattered as the Duergar's arm broke, tiny rings of mail popping into his face. The warrior screeched in agony, reeling in pain and dropping to his knees. A quick twist, and the Duergar's suffering ended as he fell to the ground, neck broken.

By now, Tenari, leader of the raiding party, had begun to grow worried. The unarmed _rivvil _had single-handedly killed his best warriors, and was moving on to the archers. He realized his mistake now, which now seemed glaring obvious. He had underestimated the strength of his foe, and in any battle, the consequence was usually fatal. The human male was performing feats that should have been impossible…and yet he was.

Hurriedly, the commando ran back towards their impromptu camp, searching among their possessions for a certain chest. This chest contained several oddly lumpy stones with drow runes scratched into the underside. The stones hummed with a magical energy, and were endowed with a powerful one-shot teleportation spell. If one spoke the word of command, then the stone would activate, transporting the user to the specified location.

In truth, these stones had been reserved specifically for the females among the raiding party…but what use is magic to the dead?

Trey rubbed his hands together, wiping whatever dirt and blood his knuckles had accumulated on his gloves. There was one dark elf remaining, the one which had commanded the rest. This one he would disable and interrogate. The drow's back was turned to him, and Trey approached just in time to hear the drow speak one word that seemed to hang in the air like some sort of command.

"_Tekrath_," said the Drow, and a series of odd cracking sounds came from the chest he was kneeling in front of him. Trey tensed, awaiting some final spell, some awaiting doom, but nothing happened. The Drow dug something out from a hidden pocket, and, back still turned to him, spoke another word.

"_Tokrah,_" Trey heard, and this time the effect was more immediate. He heard a crashing gong, echoing from out of nowhere. The next moment, he was knocked of his feet as a great rushing wind pushed him down, emanating from the drow. When he lifted his head, the Drow had vanished.

Angrily, he slammed a fist into the stone floor. Just like that, his only lead had vanished into thin air, and all hopes of finding Alain. He was as good as blind now, and for a moment he sat on the ground, paralyzed with indecision. Should he keep looking or return to the surface and come back to the Undermountain with a proper search party?

He stood up, crossed the room, and took a look into the crate the Drow had sat in front of. Inside were several broken stones, each split down the middle with perfect precision. He lifted half a stone, running a thumb along the smooth edge of the break, when revelation struck him. The Drow had said two words, magical in nature. The first word had destroyed these stones. The second had been the activation command, and the stone had probably teleported him somewhere. The inside of the stones were hollow, and he imagined the core of the stones containing pure magic energy, a fuse waiting to be lit. He shoved the stones into a small bag on his waist and stood. Maybe the stones could be of some use to him, because he sensed that some remnant of magic still lay dormant. He started to leave the room, when an idea popped into his head.

He grabbed one of the fallen duergar's axes, and using the blade, scratched a large "T" into the earth. Then, he etched a crude arrow stretching from the bottom of the letter towards the arch. He stepped back, surveying his work, and nodded. If Alain came into this room, he would decipher the meaning behind the marking. He shoved the axe into the hem of his robes in case he needed to make any other marks, and approached the arch. Instead of seeing murky darkness, as on the opposite side, his vision was extremely clear. As he observed the hallway beyond the arch, he realized that the view was magnified; he could see the grooves in the stone wall some thirty feet away. So that was how he had been ambushed so effectively. _If Halaster ever regained his sanity, he'd make a pretty penny selling some of his secrets,_ he thought ruefully, and stepped back through the arch.

He wandered about for a while longer, and thankfully encountered little of note. The drow, it seemed, had either slew or scared off anything that could serve as a threat to them. he came across a stone bridge spanning a sea of magma. Blocking the pathway were several colored pillars: blue, red, white, green, and violet. As he looked closer, he noticed that the pillars were made of the same mineral that the arch had been made of. On his side of the bridge, were four levers. In front of each lever was a small indentation, where he guessed some sort of object was supposed to be placed. _Some sort of puzzle then…I wonder if those stones could help here?_ He pulled the small leather bag from his pocket and emptied the stones into his palm. The stones still hummed slightly, and he smiled. The magic hadn't faded yet, and he still remembered the word of command. First, he fit the halved stones together, each stone connecting perfectly. Then, he shoved the stones into the indentations at the base of the levers. It was a tight fit, but he managed it. He stepped back, groping mentally for the word of command.

"Tekrath!" He said in a loud voice. Nothing happened. The monk stared at the levers, dumbfounded, before another idea struck him. He walked to the levers, and pulled each one in turn, the metallic levers swinging easily back and forth. When he pulled the fourth lever, a large cracking echo sounded, similar to the one he had heard at the Drow camp, only much louder. Trey recoiled, shoving his fingers into his ears, his eyes narrowed. As he looked on, the levers he had pulled seemed to melt at the sound of the cracking, which had not yet stopped, and congealed into puddles on the stone. Colored smoke arose from the pillars, and then, with a crashing sound that made the ceiling shake, the pillars crumbled, piling into nothing more than colored pebbles. The bridge was clear, and he slowly removed his fingers from his ears. Across the bridge, beyond the magma lake, he saw a stairway, descending deeper into the Undermountain.

_One level down, who knows how many more to go. But still no Alain. _He crossed the bridge, stepping over the rubble gingerly, and sat down on the other side of the bridge. Hopefully, Alain would see the arrows he had scratched into the ground and follow his trail. If Alain didn't, he hoped that nothing nastier did.


	5. Mind Games

Mind Games

Alain leaned against the wall, chest heaving, and tried to catch his breath. He had completely lost all sense of direction, but somehow he had managed to give the scout the slip. He spat on the ground bitterly, cursing his luck. Funny that, only hours ago, he had been annoyed by the lack of praise he had received for his actions during Undrentide. If only the bards could see him now, running from orc, drow and everything in between!

As Alain raised his head, his breath beginning to catch, his eyes caught another irregularity in the middle of the corridor. He approached the writings, wondering if this was one more trap of the Undermountain, but as he squinted into the murky darkness, he discovered it was a single letter: T.

Hope bloomed in his heart. It was a T, with an arrow pointing further down the corridor he had sprinted up. On either side of the T were two tiny dots, the same way Trey liked to sign his name. His teacher had come for him! His face lit up in a smile no one could see in the dark, and he turned on heel and followed the arrow, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten.

He jogged down two empty corridors before coming to another T, this one pointing westward. To his east, he heard animal grunting and the clatter of swordplay. He dimly realized that the fighting was most likely between the Orcs and Pixies, for domination of the first level. To the reasonable mind, the "battle" sounded like no contests. Large, muscular Orcs carrying swords against tiny sprites wielding daggers the size of toothpicks? However, neither side could take the advantage. The smaller Pixies were hard to hit with a blade, and their daggers were laced with enchantments that could stun and confuse the mind. The orcs had the advantage in numbers and brute force, but the Pixies were superior in hit-and-run tactics.

He turned west and followed the passage. He had no interest in the war, though he pitied the creatures. Forced into obedience through magical means and used as props in the drama of an adventure: no matter how wicked any of the creatures might have been, none of them deserved imprisonment.

He followed the signs for what felt like hours before he came to a bridge. Lava boiled and bubbled below it. Across the length of the bridge, colored pebbles the ground in a bizarre array. And there, on the other side, was a figure sitting on the ground. Further on, a door leading beyond was carved into a large stone building of sorts. Grey smoke covered the doorway in a shroud, obscuring his view.

Alain tossed his caution to the winds and walked across the bridge. The figure stood as he approached the end, and threw back his hood.

"Alain! So you finally arrived," Trey said, smiling as Alain reached the far end of the bridge. Alain noted that though his tone was matter-of-fact, he could sense both surprise and relief in his words.

"Late as usual, I suppose," said Alain, running a hand through his untidy hair. The he smiled, ending the farce. "It's good to see you, teacher."

"Was there ever any doubt?" Trey said, smiling. _Maybe just a bit,_ Alain thought. _According to that bard Marcus, the wider world considers me as no more than a henchman of yours. _

The older monk frowned as he surveyed the various injuries Alain had suffered before removing several healing potions and tonics from his robe. The drow raiding party's goods had been trapped to various degrees, but the warriors and archers had held a number of useful elixirs on them, which Trey had helped himself to. Now he was glad he had taken the time to do so. In a matter of moments, the nagging pain of his shoulder was a thing of the past.

Alain rolled his arm in a slow circle experimentally. It was funny how the mind worked. Not too long ago, he had been very close to despair— and now his previous troubles seemed like a distant memory. _I'm still in Undermountain with not a clue where I am or where we're going but…_ He glanced at Trey, who was looking at him expectantly, and he realized that he was waiting for an answer to something.

"Sorry, drifted for a minute. What did you say?" Alain inquired.

"I asked if you were ready to go further down," Trey said, motioning towards the door covered in smoke. "The sooner we head down, the quicker we can solve this whole problem."

"Wait, wait a minute, what about the others?" Alain said urgently. Though his memories of his arrival in Underdark were a little fuzzy, he clearly remembered at least three more people with him.

"Alain, there's no time for that. I revived one already; we have to trust that the others are still holding their own down here," Trey said, and then, noticing his student's expression, continued, "Think of it this way— the drow hunting them have been taken care of. When we reach Halaster, we'll tell him about the people here, and he can teleport them back to the surface. Don't worry."

Alain sighed, not feeling too reassured. What if the wizard refused their request? What if the wizard was behind the whole plot? If so, then their approach would be divined, and the two would probably get blasted into identical scorches against the stone. Still, there was no point arguing Trey's logic. After all, how long had it taken for the two monks to find each other?

Trey placed a hand on his student's shoulder, giving whatever comfort he could, then turned towards the door. He halted in front of the door, the grey smoke sifting over the doorway like mist. Trey inhaled, and stepped through, but Alain could hear no footsteps on the other side of the fog. Not wanting to get separated again, Alain closed his eyes and stepped through.

There was a stretching feeling, similar to the sensation he had experienced when he stepped through his first portal. This time though, he received no flash of insight on the floor plan of the second level. For a moment he was weightless, then his feet touched down on solid ground, and he opened his eyes. The air was clearly thicker here, and he and Trey were in the middle of hallway akin to the ones on the first level. However, instead of the passage being carved out of pure stone, the hall had a more domestic feel, making Alain think more of mausoleums or museums. Spider webs hung in the corners, and when he placed a hand against the cold stone wall, he could faintly sense movement inside the stone. He removed his hand quickly, and looked ahead. This passage was lined with torches, providing clear visibility, and the hallway went straight on ahead towards another door. It also intersected with another hallway, leading towards their right.

Trey turned behind them, where a stone door similar to the one Alain could see at the far end of the hallway was. He grabbed the door handle and pulled hard, but the door didn't budge. _A portal then._ Trey thought. _Is this floor fixed, or did the portal send us to a random location in the Undermountain?...Pointless to dwell on it, since it's too late to change anything._ Motioning to Alain to be quiet, they crept down the hallway. Trey pressed against the wall, and peeked around the corner. The next hallway was empty, and another stone doorway lay at the end. He stepped out from behind the corner and walked towards the door, Alain following behind.

_This door won't open either, and we'll be trapped here,_ Alain thought, but the door swung open easily. Inside was a large room the size of a small stadium. In the middle of a room was a checkerboard pattern spanning the entire room, (_no, chessboard,_ Alain amended). They approached the black-and-white pattern, which was nigh-perfect save for one imperfection: two more squares, one black, one white, jutting from the middle of both sides of the board.

As they stood before the colossal design, a small column of air flickered for a second, and Alain blinked, unsure of what he had seen. Then, from seemingly nowhere, a hooded man appeared in front of them. _No, not appeared. More like…faded in,_ Alain thought. The man was short, about 5'3'' or so, Alain guessed, and as he lifted his head, he realized that the man's eyes were blue. Not just royal blue, or ocean blue but an _electric _blue that seemed to demand your attention. The rest of his face seemed strangely non-descript, almost a sketch of what a normal man should look like. His nose was average, neither abnormally large nor small, his mouth a quick slash, similar to one that a talented artist might use when drawing someone. Grizzled gray hair lined the man's chin like moss. Alain couldn't see the man's hands, and could only vaguely guess at the man's shape: lithe or burly, the grey robes the man wore obscured any sort of character the man might have.

"…Who are you?" Trey said, after waiting a few minutes in uncomfortable silence. The man had not moved an inch, only regarding them with those strangely eerie eyes.

"The Chessmaster," The man answered immediately, before falling silent again. Alain guessed that the man wasn't the type to hold long, philosophical conversations about himself. He was set as a warden of sorts, and a flash of insight struck him then: _We'll have to fight him. Fight him, or fight our way across the board. _

"What do we need to do to pass by you?" Trey asked, resigning to the fact that there would be some deed they needed to accomplish. After all, this man was little more than a construct, programmed to answer certain questions. Beings like this _always_ needed something done in exchange for passage. He could only hope that he and Alain wouldn't have to play couriers for Halaster's amusement.

"Just play the game," said the construct apathetically, and Trey moaned quietly in annoyance. If the Chessmaster noticed, he showed no outward sign. Instead, he simply motioned with a hooded arm towards the board. "Only one of you will need to play. Just one game, win or lose, and I'll allow you passage." The two monks exchanged an uneasy glance, the same thought on their mind: the task was too easy, and that implied risk.

"A game at what cost?" Trey questioned, fearful of the answer. If the answer was "Your lives," then he would not play along; the game would be stacked against them. Alain was good at chess, Trey was better, but neither would be a match for this ageless creature which had probably played game after game in this cave beyond time. He knew without needing to check that Alain would back him up in an attack on the construct if it came to it. But could they defeat it? Did the robes covering this construct hide something sinister?

"No price," the construct answered, and would say no more. The monks exchanged another glance, this one confusion over anxiety. Trey hesitated, considering their chances of a successful attack on the construct, when Alain stepped forward, surprising him.

"I'll play then," he said, and Trey gaped at him. Alain locked eyes with him, and slightly shook his head. His student's impulsiveness was a trait that amused him and annoyed him, depending upon the situation. _I hope it doesn't cost him his life this time…_

The construct nodded, motioning with a hand for Alain to step on the black square on their side of the field. Alain stepped onto the square, and as he did, the square flashed once, a brief, blinding light. He heard Trey cry out from behind him, and he closed his eyes shut. Then the glow faded, though his skin was tingling oddly. When his eyes re-adjusted to the darkness of the cave, he noticed that the construct was nowhere in sight.

"Look!" Trey cried, surprised, pointing towards the other side of the field. Alain squinted towards the opposite white square on the field, where a man had stepped up to the field from out of nowhere. He almost gasped aloud, understanding his teacher's shock. His challenger was himself, a perfect copy dressed in the exact same fashion was staring back calmly from across the board. Several life-size chess pieces materialized with a soft POP! and obscured his view, but there was no mistaking his sight.

The game began suddenly, and his own surprise faded quickly with his tightening focus on playing. He was not quite as good as Trey in chess but close, and had beaten many of his former disciples during his earliest days in the Temple. "Chess is like life," his teachers would say, "Men moves as they act, and act as they move. If you can play chess, you can play life."

Nevertheless, it was as Trey had feared: the construct had decades of practice, and was able to second-guess his student's every move. The two players would dictate their moves to the board, and the chess pieces, bound to the magic of the board, moved in response. Yet he found himself pushed into the same corners he had used on his own opponents. He was being toyed with!

_Obviously,_ Alain thought bitterly to himself. _Who knows me better than myself? I have to practice a different strategy._

An alien thought, cold and foreign, insinuated itself into his mind: _I thought as much. After all, why would a lackey have any chance at all? _Alain started, looking up at the image of himself. The Alain-copy wore a chilling grin on its face as he locked eyes with it, and he knew that his mind was being read. But why challenge adventurers to a game of chess with that kind of power?

_Don't worry,_ the pseudo-Alain 'sent' mentally, as if in answer to his unasked question. _I never read strategy. I never need to. Everything else is more interesting. Your dreams, your hopes… your fears. _Alain ground his teeth together. He could _feel_ the creature's mind within his own, cold fingers shifting through his mind like scattered papers which he was powerless to stop. It was a violation unlike any he could imagine. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind, and moved his knight, threatening the fake's queen. The copy countered, moving his queen to check his king.

_Check. _Smug. Entirely, maddeningly self-assured.

There was an imperceptible nod towards Trey behind him. _I can read his thoughts too, and you needn't worry: __he knows your true worth as a companion. After all, he couldn't carry all those bags by himself, could he? _

Alain tried his best to block out the sound of the duplicate's voice in his head, but its words came through as clear as day, almost as if it was whispering them right next to him. _Fears,_ Alain thought. _That's mine: being little more than a footnote in history, of being under-appreciated. _Yes, this much was true…but had it always been the case?He cast his mind back to their time in the Anarouch desert, to their quest which had begun because of Drogan Droganson and a curious stone. Through all of their trials and challenges, they had worked as a team. If there was the barest hint of an ego in his teacher, Alain had yet to see it. He had never cared to listen to skalds and songwriters sing of their deeds in Undrentide along the road, nor bothered to correct the misconceptions of the public. Perhaps Trey knew that it was fruitless to even try.

He moved his king out of check, awaiting the next move. In answer, the construct moved a pawn on the right flank, opening up his bishop, and stared at him with Alain's own brown eyes. Disconcerting, to say the least.

Experimenting, Alain tried to "send" his own mental message to the construct. _You're not so tough, not even with years of practice. Not too many willing players come by, do they? Such is the life of the bondsman. _He smirked, more for show than as an accurate depiction of what he was feeling. If the construct did not lie, and did not read his strategy, then it would not be able to guess his game. If his body double wanted to play mind games as well as chess, then Alain would do his best to comply. He somehow had the feeling that the first to win one game would claim the other.

_Bondsman?_ The young man saw a frown form on the copy's face, darkening its otherless nonplussed expression. _Bondsman! This coming from the pack-mule of the great, the esteemed Trey Nefzen?_

_Better a mule_ _then the plaything of a mad wizard, I'd say._ Alain sent back. _When's the last time Halaster let you out of your cage?_

The construct did not reply, instead moving its bishop hastily into the middle of the board. Alain grinned gleefully, realizing that he was slowly gaining the advantage. The construct may not have had emotions, but it seemed to have absorbed Alain's other characteristics along with his shape. His weakness was pride, and so he had appealed to the construct in a gamble, which had succeeded. He almost chuckled aloud as his knight captured the construct's bishop, which dissipated and appeared on his side of the board.

_Getting hasty, now. You might be slipping a bit in your game. And then Halaster would have to put you right back onto the proverbial shelf, wouldn't he? Well, too bad. I guess you can always take up checkers._

_Quiet, fool! _The construct thundered, and Alain winced as the mental voice roared in his head. Now the double was moving aggressively, pushing its rook forward, taking one of Alain's pawns and penetrating his left row. _No matter what you do, you know in your heart that you will never earn his respect! You're doomed to be second best, not quite good enough, the honorable mention! Always!_

Alain considered the sentient's words for a long time. If this thing wearing his face, thinking his thoughts, still held some basic core that could be called 'Alain', then there was little point in arguing its claim. The construct had said it, and so Alain must have thought it at some point in time.

_So be it._

Alain was not sure if the thought had came to him naturally, or whether he had spoken it aloud, but all at once, it felt as if a great weight had been removed from his mind. He heard a small, audible, CLICK, and looked up. The opposing king was lying on its side, and a small smile was on the fake-Alain's face.

"I resign," the construct boomed, and as if on some unheard command, the chess pieces on the board rose up and faded into nothingness, as insubstantial as a shadow. Trey stepped up behind Alain, and patted him on the shoulder.

"Good job," he muttered, puzzlement coloring his words. Alain could understand. The construct had no reason to give up yet, it still held a better position on the board than Alain. But Trey didn't know of the second, unseen game that had been played.

_Maybe one day, I'll tell him about it,_ Alain thought. _But not__ just yet. _

His copy covered his face with its robes again, and as they crossed the place where the chessboard had once been, the duo saw that the odd creature had resumed its first persona: a hooded man with a rather forgettable face.

"You have played your game, and so are granted passage. Ahead lies a door. When you step through, focus on your destination, and you will be taken there," the being said, and fell silent. They passed by the man in silence, and walked off the board. Alain "heard" one last thought of the construct, hazy and disconnected.

_You are being watched, and closely at that. Take care…_


	6. Rebellion

Rebellion

The doorway at the back of the chamber was shrouded in the same curtain of white smoke that the previous doorway had been covered in. Small, magical, colored lights danced over the doorway, and Trey cast an uncertain look into the room behind them. The construct had told them that the door could send them wherever they wished… but where did they need to go?

"The bottom," Alain spoke from behind him, as if he had read his teacher's thoughts. "If we concentrate on the bottom on the Undermountain, even if we have not seen it, the magic of the portal should be able to see us through. That's what I would guess, anyway."

Yes, the bottom. If Halaster was anywhere, it would on the "ground" floor, closest to the entrance to the Underdark. He had come to rescue his student first and foremost, but with that taken care of…there was still the matter of the drow to deal with. If he remembered Durnan's words correctly, Halaster would be the most appropriate person to speak with concerning them. That is, if he wasn't the one behind the assassinations…

_But what do you do to an Archmage, hm? Slap him on the wrist and tell him to stop it, stop it right now?_ a small, nagging voice in the back of his head asked. Well, there was simply no use worrying about it now— they would cross that bridge when they came to it. He cleared his mind and painted a picture of what the bottom of the Undermountain would look like: closer to a cave as opposed to the labyrinthine structure of the upper levels, dimly lit with vermin crawling blindly through the few skeletons of their predecessors. He imagined faceless, shapeless beasts creeping through the darkness, hunting, sleeping, eating, _being_. Trey closed his eyes and inhaled sharply.

"Paint a picture of the bottom in your mind before you step in, Alain!" he bid his student, and stepped forward. He felt _déjà vu_ wash over him as the fog enveloped him, chilling him to thebone. When was the last time he had stepped into the unknown with no regard for his safety? Twice. Once, before Drogan's death, and then after, as he and Alain had leapt into the Shadow Plane.. The portal Drogan had created for them had been an almost instantaneous transfer: here in the crumbling ruins of an ancient civilization one moment, and the next, the fallen city of Undrentide. The Shadow Plane portal's transfer had been seamless: one moment he was in the world of light, the next one of shadow and whispers and other things that should not be spoken of. Neither experience compared to this.

There was utter darkness as he stepped into this portal, and a pause. It was unnerving, as he opened his eyes to find himself floating in the emptiness of space. No, between space, between planes. The blackness was complete, he could almost _smell _the magic surrounding him, and distantly, heard the sound of a growl.

He was not alone. Something lurked in this other-space, and if the spell failed, or his destination could not be read…

His perceptions opened, and for a moment, he could see all the levels of the Undermountain opening up to him. The difference between the levels resembled the makeup of a bookshelf, neatly divided with countless shortcuts, pitfalls and trapdoors leading from one to the next. In one level, he could see in his mind's eye a flesh golem screaming at the top of its artificial lungs as it fled several pursuing drow. A few levels below that, a pack of Worgs surrounded a lone drow scout. The drow's crimson and black armor was torn in places, and she looked ready to collapse on the spot.

He blinked, trying to remove himself from the approaching slaughter, and focused his thoughts towards the bottom of the Undermountain. From his

(left? right?)

there came another low grunt: almost like a cat's purr. He turned his mind and abruptly all thought ceased to be. A gigantic, formless spider-face was in front of him, its luminous yellow eyes beaming like lanterns— hundreds upon hundreds of them. He sensed, rather than saw, a jumbled body made of bristly hairs and numerous legs behind it. The monstrosity seemed to loom over, with something that looked horribly like human skin dangling from its chelicerae. What was worse, the image seemed to shimmer, and Trey understood in a flash of insight that this was another glamour, like the construct which had worn Alain's skin. This creature's true form was so… so _alien_ that he could not even comprehend it. Instead, his mind had converted the monstrosity into the closest thing it could accept.

It regarded with a frigid detachment and Trey felt his will begin to erode. If he stared at it for any longer, he would simply go mad, and that would be the end of it.

_Outoutoutoutoutoutout!_ his mind yammered. Desperately, he called up images of cellars, basements, bottoms. There was a small click all around him: the sound of a key entering a lock. The creature lunged for him, its hideous arms extending…

And Trey stumbled out of the smoke-filled doorway roughly three hundred feet below he had entered.

His arms flailed in front of him defensively, before realizing what had happened. A few seconds later, Alain flew out from the doorway, sprawling on the ground behind him.

"You saw it too then?" Trey asked, and Alain nodded slowly, getting to his feet.

"W-what was it?" The young monk reached into the pockets of his robe, and pulled out the Relic of the Reaper, which was seemed to gleam even in the dim light of the cavern. "I could feel myself…slipping towards it, and then I think the Relic-" he paused, seeming to search for the word with some frustration before finally seizing it, "yanked me out like a bass on the fishing line."

"There are things in this world that are ancient, beyond our understanding. As for the Relic…" Trey trailed off, looking at the artifact dubiously. Outwardly, it resembled little more than a twisted up chunk of metal and stone, but this was the second time it had played a direct role in saving his student's life. "Keep it close to you. The Relic leads to a plane of sorts— perhaps holding it saved you." Alain nodded slightly as if that settled the matter, but deep down, both monks had their own doubts.

The bottom level was completely unlike the previous two. The air was stale and their voices echoed for a long way, reverberating off of the walls for a disturbingly long distance. The granite ceiling sloped upward, out of sight in the gloom. Stalagmites pushed up from the ground every few feet in random patterns, and the only source of light was near the doorway, from nearby torches. Farther into the cave was only blackness.

Trey dug a hand into his supply bag before fishing out a small, light-blue crystal. He tapped the metal surface twice, and murmured the word of activation. The crystal flashed a white light, and Trey felt a tingling run over his skin. He handed the crystal to Alain, who mimicked his actions, and took a few steps into the cave. The light-giving crystal had turned him into a walking candle, his own hands-free source of illumination. The two males proceeded into the cavern, staying behind outcropping of rock and stalagmites whenever possible. But they were not espied by any Drow. None that could be seen, that is.

The farther into the cavern they crept, the harder it became to judge exactly how large it was. The soft squeaks of sleeping bat colonies among the stalactites grew fainter and fainter. Soon, another sound was heard by Trey's ears, one distinctly out of place in their current surroundings: the distinctive crack of a whip. They followed the sound to its source and hid themselves behind a large outcropping of rock. Motioning to Alain to keep his silence, Trey peered out from behind the boulder.

They had stumbled upon the outskirts of some sort of work-camp. Formians— a cross between ants and centaurs which the pair had encountered in the Anarouch— were shifting and breaking up rock under the eyes of drow over-seers. From his perspective, Trey guessed that the Formians were being used to break ground for a direct entrance to the Undermountain to the Underdark. It seemed that whatever magic the Drow harnessed to teleport to and from the surface was a limited commodity. Past the group of Formians upon a high ledge, he spotted the Formian Queen. She was hard to miss, with a larger abdomen than the other Formians and strange, runic markings in her carapace. However, multicolored ray of light crisscrossed the Queen's body, seeming to pass through the chitinous shell it touched. This was a containment spell, he assumed, as the Formian's "face" seemed to sporadically contort in pain.

Alain noticed little of these things. Instead, his eyes marked the watchful expression of the Drow mage close to the Queen. He saw a Formian, carrying a stone much too big for it, stumble. A nearby ogre brought a wicked-looking poleaxe down on the creature with no hesitation. Greenish ichor sprayed from the wound as the Formian chittered pitifully, but the Ogre's face was expressionless as it stepped over the body, and lifted the rock in one fluid motion. Most of all, he marked the expression each Formian's face seemed to show: mingled rage and helplessness at their situation. It reminded him of the thralls they had seen in Ashtara's camp in the city of Undrentide. They had been skittish and refused to look anyone in the eyes, a side-effect of the beatings and shock collars, courtesy of their lizardfolk masters. These creatures probably would not have time to develop such behavior. They would simply toil to their deaths, or be slaughtered by the Drow.

It was a lamentable situation for the Formians, but in Trey's opinion, they would do better to avoid revealing themselves to the drow and move on in silence. Surely Halaster was somewhere ahead— if he was the source of the troubles with the dark elves, then they would put him down. If he wasn't, then the archmage could remove the dark elves with greater ease than the pair could. Either way, the most strategic choice was to-

Trey didn't notice Alain had moved from his hiding place, until a golden shuriken embedded itself in one of the ogre's eyeballs. There was the dull clatter of steel as the ogre's halberd slipped from its fingers as it clapped a hand to its face, groaning gutturally. There was a blur of movement from the corner of Trey's eye, and Alain entered the battle, voicing some inarticulate war cry. Though he cursed the boy's haste, he understood his decision: the boy just couldn't idly watch the suffering of the Formians. Trey removed a few shuriken from his robe as he stepped out from behind the boulder and followed after his student, flicking a few of the throwing stars as cover fire.

"Freedom!" Alain cried. "Rise up!" That said, he plunged into the middle of the colony, making his way towards the drow wizard. The Formains were a telepathic race, ruled as one colony by their queen. Their attacks could be coordinated wordlessly and liable to change at the speed of thought. If he could free their Queen…

The drow captors were utterly caught by surprise, and the sudden attack served to befuddle all but the veteran drow soldiers. Within a few moments, however, the Drow force moved into action, and the Formian rebellion would have crushed, had it not been for Trey. A drow swordsman barking commands to the rest of its kin was silenced thanks to a well-placed shuriken.

Alain moved forward with little resistance towards the upraised platform where the queen was held. The drow spellcaster had time for one enchantment, summoning a snarling wolf in hopes of some protection. Unperturbed by the beast, Alain closed the distance and delivered a straight kick into the drow's abdomen. The force of the blow was enough to push the dark elf right off the edge of the precipice, and the drow didn't even have the breath to scream as he plummeted to his death on the rocks below.

The magical animal dissipated as quickly as it appeared, and the bonds of light surrounding the Formian Queen immediately began to fade. As the creature regained control of it/herself, she sent a telepathic command to the rest of her Hive, repeating Alain's words: _Rise up!__Kill the Drow!_

The Formian rebellion strengthened in earnest as the command rippled over the mass, and the few remaining Drow either fled or were killed under the piercing pincers of soldier Formians. Trey didn't bother giving chase to the survivors, but instead came up behind Alain, who was standing before the Formian Queen. The two were looking intently at each other, and he was momentarily puzzled, until the Queen surprised them both by addressing them in screechy Common.

"You are humans, correct? Forgive me for my uncertainty, but I am not familiar with all bipedal creatures," the Queen said, her antennae flicking.

"Yes, we're humans," Trey answered. "And you are a Formian?"

"Yes, I am the Formian queen of this colony," the Queen said, though to Alain, her voice sounded distracted. Her antennae were fanning the air rhythmically, and he guessed she was communicating to the rest of the colony while speaking to them.

"We have questions," said Trey, understanding that time was of the essence. There was little time for gratitude or the exchanging of pleasantries; while he had supported his student's impulsiveness, he was also aware of the danger it had placed them into. More Drow might be coming, and they had been lucky enough to strike with surprise on their side. A larger Drow force had the power to crush them.

However, the Formian Queen was already shaking her head from side to side, a gesture that looked normal except when performed by a giant talking bug.

"I have no time for questions, human creature. Without a Queen, the colony will die, and my scouts tell me there are more Drow about. But," she continued, "you have saved a Formian Queen, and you have earned the friendship of the hive." She looked at them both with her large, lidless eyes, and Alain felt as if he was being marked. "Good-bye human creatures- we may meet again." With that, the Queen leapt off of the precipice, landing easily on the stone below, and scurried into the shadows. The rest of the Formian colony, carrying their wounded, followed after her, and Trey could faintly hear the burrowing sounds of rock and dirt being pushed away. Then the sounds died away, and the colony was gone.

The corpses of Drow, Ogres, and one Minotaur littered the stone rock, flies already buzzing greedily over the dead. The sheer number of Formians had overpowered them. Trey descended from the top of the ridge carefully, dreading the sound of reinforcements arriving out of the dark to avenge their dead. Thankfully, none came.

"Next time, Alain, try to warn me before you go rushing off into battle," Trey said dryly, his eyes falling upon the Ogre Alain had struck first. Alain dipped his head and noddedas Trey continued, "Still… this time things worked out. My biggest fear was that the Formians might turn on you instead of the Drow, and you would be surrounded by a sea of enemies."

"No," Alain said promptly, shaking his head. "Didn't you see it in them? They wanted to fight back, but they couldn't endanger their Queen. Besides, the Drow would have killed them once they did whatever they were supposed to do. Could we really just leave them here?" Trey shook his head, still surveying the destruction. He had seen it in their Ki, their aura: the formless spiritual energy that all living things possess. There had been the subtle shades of fear and despair tinged with the undercurrents of anger. They were a powderkeg awaiting the match, and Alain had proved to be the vital spark. This time, they had won. Next time, they might not have that same luck. Nonetheless…

"Your heart was in the right place, Alain. Still, try and signal me next time, so that we can coordinate our efforts." Alain nodded again, his expression apologetic."For now, let's move on. If there are more Drow around, it would be better to hunt than be hunted." They both re-applied the magical light of the crystal, which had faded during the battle, and pushed on farther into the cave. Behind them, a hooded drow took note of the bloody aftermath of the rebellion, and continued in stealthy pursuit of the monks.

After an hour of wandering aimlessly around the cavern (to the annoyance of the drow behind them) and a few encounters with the drow survivors of the Formian rebellion, the two finally reached a stone archway with some form of inscription carved into the rock above it. The dark-skinned tracker decided that it would be most fortunate to reveal herself to the males here, risky as it may be. She had observed the two in combat, and if they attacked her on sight, she had to be ready to flee. With an inaudible murmur, she dispelled the enchantment of invisibility cloaking her form and stepped towards their light, her hands held away from her sides.

"Hold, I mean you no harm."

The younger male visibly flinched, his right hand flicking towards a pouch holding his shurikens before he caught himself. She did not know who he was. The older male however, Trey, didn't seem surprised.

"I was wondering when you would step forward," he said calmly, putting a hand on the younger male's shoulder. "Wait, Alain. This one has something to say." He nodded to her, though Alain's hand didn't budge.

"You are Trey Nefzen, correct? You are something of a legend among my people, and it does not surprise me that you saw me." Though it _did _surprise her, worse, it rattled her. Her days as a Red Sister were long behind her, but her skills had not atrophied with time. It should have impossible for her to be detected by sound alone.

"Why am I a legend, exactly?" Trey sounded mildly amused, but there was a subtle change in the younger monk's expression at his words. Envy, perhaps.

"To date, you are the first to continue to draw breath after the Valsharess had decided to kill you. No small accomplishment— but I am getting ahead of myself.

"Who are you?" The one called Alain blurted.

"I am Nathyrra, part of a group of rebel drow, who wants to help you succeed in freeing Halaster, and stopping the attacks on Waterdeep." She could see the questions in their eyes and could only imagine what they might be thinking. The Seer had been specific in her instructions, however. Her prophecies had saved them— all of them, no matter what some might think— so far, but she was not infallible, and she knew it.

_If they will agree to aid us, then they will know everything. But until then…_

"So you know where Halaster is?" Alain asked, his hand inching back towards his side.

_An easy question, _Nathyrra thought, almost smiling in spite of the danger. "Halaster has been captured, and is being held alive. He is not too far from here, but a larger encampment of Drow, larger than the one you defeated, precedes them. You will have to find some way past them, if you want to go further."

"Hmm. Thank you for the information, Nathyrra, if it is accurate. I know a little about the Valsharess," Trey said, thinking of his dream back in the Inn, which felt like months ago. "But what's this about you and drow rebels?"

"Suffice it to say that not all Drow follow the Valsharess. She seeks to gain power, and it is to our mutual advantage to keep her from getting that. Soon all will be made clear," she added, seeing the suspicious look in Alain's eyes, "but for now a choice lies before you. You can trust me, or not."

Trey scrutinized her carefully, and after a few moments, Nathyrra felt distinctly uncomfortable under his gaze. Then he dipped his head in agreement. "We will trust you, as it is to our mutual gain. However, if we are double-crossed, it would be best not to approach us again." It was one of the most unremarkable threats Nathyrra had ever heard, yet she did not doubt that they would follow through with it, given the opportunity. _What can you expect? Every Drow here has taken a swing at them, no wonder they're nervous. _She nodded to them, before stepping back into the shadows, already casting another spell of invisibilty.

"We will meet again, on the other side, I hope." Her words seemed to fade with her form as she disappeared from sight, and Alain relaxed slightly. His student could not have sensed the presence of their tail, but to Trey, the aura of her Ki had made Nathyrra stand out like a candle in the dark. He had held off from taking direct action until there could be some way of ascertaining her motives. There was no way of knowing if Nathyrra was telling the truth, but… _she could have attacked us at any time and has chosen against it. This speaks volumes._

"Well then." He stared into the dark for a few moments after the dark elf before turning his eyes to his student, who still looked a bit bewildered. "According to Nathyrra, another Drow camp should not be too far away— and Halaster with it. Let's try and find them."

"And if there are too many for us?" Alain questioned. If Trey trusted Nathyrra, then he would not, just to be safe. "What if she's a part of the camp she told us about, and we're going into an ambush?"

Trey actually laughed, and tipped his incredulous student a wink. "Come on, Alain. I would think that you of all people would be getting used to being ambushed. Third time's the charm, right?"


	7. The Way of the Open Palm

The Way of the Open Palm

They approached the archway door slowly. Both men, in their own fashion, were preparing themselves for the coming battle. Alain took a few slow, deep breaths, trying to keep his mind still, and clear, like the surface of a lake at dawn. The elders at the temple had said: _Keep your mind focused at all times; it is the flexible sapling, not the adamant oak, that survives storm after storm._The young student reckoned that his 'mind-tree' had withstood quite a few storms already.

If Trey was frightened, he didn't show it, and Alain was struck at how blasé he seemed after Nathyrra's appearance. He concentrated, attempting to read the older man's aura, but despite his best efforts, the most he could make out around Trey was a faint, grey line of his Ki around his body. _He's drawing his Ki in, like a turtle withdrawing into its shell. What does that do?_

Trey exhaled slowly, one hand on the door handle, as he felt the Ki beginning to build inside of him. Alain had not yet mastered the technique he was using, formally called _Ba-Ki_ by the elders in the Temple, which meant the unification of both the body, Ba, and the energy of the soul, Ki. Drawing his aura inside the body resulted in great strength and speed through sheer force of will; however, it left one feeling physically and mentally exhausted. A monk using the _Ba-Ki _could run for miles at a quick pace, or shatter boulders with a well-aimed blow. Trey had mastered the technique at least ten years ago, and yet this was only the second time he had decided to use it.

"Ready?" Trey asked, steeling himself for what lay ahead. "Let's-" But his words were cut short by the sounds of a furious rumbling from nearby. The two looked about for the source of the noise, until a Formian worker, followed by the Queen Formian, burst from the wall of tightly-packed stone to their right. When the dust cleared, the Queen stepped forward, tilting her head to them in greeting.

"And so we meet again, human creatures." The Queen seemed to notice the astonished look on Alain's face, and continued. "Did you forget? The Hive has named you as friend, and the time has come to repay our debt to you for our freedom."

"Repay us? How?" Alain asked, though he already knew the answer. The Formians had come for one thing: revenge against the Drow, and the idea of the Hive repaying a debt to them by destroying their mutual enemy didn't seem like very much of a reward. But he had to admit, the Formian's aid would save them a lot of time.

"Southward through this door is a drow camp," said the Queen. "If you mean to go forward, you will have to enter a battle with the dark elves, and you are greatly outnumbered. But if you would proceed, we know a way for you to avoid a confrontation."

"Do you now?" Trey said quietly, his words more to himself than at the Queen. The Queen took no notice of his words, however, and continued on.

"My people have dug a tunnel to the northeast, that bypasses the Drow camp entirely. If you should follow it, it would lead you around their encampment entirely. Do not worry," the Queen said, as if anticipating their suspicions, "the drow will not follow you, as the tunnel will be sealed behind you. Shall I send a guide to lead you there now?"

Alain could have kissed the Formian, if not for the fact that her lips were nonexistent. Here was a risk-free way to avoid a fight and reach Halaster. The sooner they freed the mage, the sooner they could leave Waterdeep. _After all, there's no other way for the Drow to enter Waterdeep with Halaster back in action, is there? _But Trey's next words quickly killed his sense of glee.

"No," Trey said flatly. "The Drow were responsible for capturing your Hive in the first place. Alain helped liberate you, and so now we have a certain obligation to see this through."

"Uhm, teacher," Alain began, before a rather sharp look from Trey cut him off mid-sentence.

"…I owe you an apology, Formian Queen. Had it not been for Alain's brave actions, I would have decided to leave in your predicament, appalling as it may have been, to delve deeper into the caverns for what we believe to be the true threat at hand. We cannot in good faith accept your option under the circumstances. Our foe is one and the same, and we shall stand with you in driving them off."

It was a brutally honest admission for his teacher to make, and at first, Alain couldn't see the point in stating it. Was Trey indirectly admonishing him for his behavior, or praising him for it? The Formian queen was silent for a time, and it was difficult to tell whether she was staring at his teacher with hostility or astonishment. Such was the norm for telepathic creatures, Alain guessed.

"There is no need for apologies, what's done is done," the Queen stated with an air of finality. "The dorw will not threaten the Hive again. When the battle begins, look below. We will show them their mistake in underestimating their captives."

Trey bowed low, and the Formians scuttled back into the tunnel they had emerged from. A few seconds later, a great cloud of dust rose forth as the tunnel closed in behind them. Alain stepped in to look and saw nothing but solid rock where the tunnel had once been.

"Teacher," Alain began cautiously, "If this is about the fact that I… that is, I'm sorry about going on without you to help the Formians. You know that, right? We're not helping them so that you can— I don't know…"

"Teach you a lesson?" Trey said with a rather amused gleam in his brown eyes. "No, Alain, that's not why— not entirely, anyhow. We will help them because it is our Way. Perhaps you did not realize your actions when you sought to help the Formians earlier…but there's no benefit in mulling over the past."

Alain nodded slowly, considering. The Way of the Open Palm was the code of honor that he had sworn to follow when he had first become Trey's disciple. He had sworn vows of poverty and self-discipline, but the Way of the Open Palm went beyond dictating the conditions of his life. As monks, both he and Trey had bound themselves to certain rules regarding other sentient beings. First, if a person or persons require aid of some sort, then as monks of the Way, they were bound to give it, if their cause was deemed just. Once aid was given, a disciple of the Way was bound to see their business through to the end, that is, to provide help until no more was needed. The Formians had accepted their aid— though they hadn't exactly asked for it— when he had freed them from the clutches of their captors. Now, they were required to defeat this final force before their 'agreement' was completed.

"Ready?" Trey asked, and when Alain nodded, they passed under the archway.

The subterranean chamber they entered was smaller than the cavern before it. The Drow needed no visible light to navigate, and as a result, the torches which dotted the outer walls had been doused and tossed to the side. It was pitch-black, save for the enchanted light surrounding both monks, and Trey never recalled feeling so vulnerable. _Might as well paint a target on my chest. Comes out to the same thing. _They took a few steps forward, before halting at the same time. There was a small sound coming from the dark, but it was noticeable, and both recognized it: the tightening sound of a bow being pulled taut. Alain focused his mind, staring into the darkness. For a few agonizing moments, there was nothing. Then, almost relucatantly, the auras of their foes bloomed into vision, blazing like miniature halos in the dark. _Many, too many. Anytime those Formians want to come out…_ he thought, and then a great many things happened.

A hail of unseen arrows flew from the dark as the first line of archers loosed their arrows at the two humans. At the same time, a great rumbling noise from below them. As the Formian Hive burst from the ground like unhappy undead, the stone beneath Alain and Trey gave way. The air soon grew thick with the unintelligible cries of Deep Speech, insectile schreeching and flying spells.

The two monks had fallen into a sort of miniature trench, seven feet or so in depth, which had served to drop them out of the line of fire in just the nick of time. With the battle joined, however, the duo scrambled up and into the battle almost at the same time. Trey plowed into the Duergar ranks like a hurricane while Alain headed for the archers, following the light of their auras.

Ocer the chaos, they could "hear" the mental urgings of the Formian Queen, directing her forces against the Drow. Behind them, the Formian Queen, along with two Formian mymarchs, pelted a group of Drow warriors with fireballs, each blast throwing the area into harsh relief in almost rhythmic flashes of light.

After a battle, Trey was always struck by a huge wave of melancholy, poignant enough to invoke nausea. Killing seemed to be an integral aspect of the adventurer's life, but it never got any easier, no matter the circumstances. There were elders amongst the temples who believed one's aura represented their immutable, invisible connection between man and earth, a delicate thread that grew thicker and more robust with every encounter. To sever that thread thoughtlessly was thought to be a terrible deed wrought with consequence. And yet it had to be done here, just as it proved to be a necessity so many times in the past. But it never got any easier.

Conversely, he never felt more alive than at a battle's beginning, and he catapulted into action like a man half his age. One duergar warrior, toting a heavy iron tower shield and a light flail, whipped a ferocious blow at his skull. The swing seemed hideously slow to his heightened senses, and he sidesteppeded out of its arc with opposite leg thrusted forward, colliding head-on with the dark dwarf's shield with all the force he could muster. The shield crumpled in the greyskin's grip, the top of the shield colliding squarely with the duergar's temple. Galvanized by his own strength, the monk followed up on his assault, delivering a brutal backhand blow that knocked his opponent right off his feet. The Duergar came to rest among three of his kin, knocking him unconscious and scattering the others.

Alain moved like a fierce wind in autumn, scattering Drow archers like dead leaves. With quick chops of his hands, he snapped bow handles and strings. The most quick-witted archers quickly traded their bows for short blades and dirks, but before the ambush could turn against Alain, the Formians were there, popping up from the earth like bizarre moles. Sharp as the Drow's blades were, they couldn't break through the shell of the Fomians' chitinous skin. The Formians' maces and clubs, however, found no trouble in crushing the soft flesh of the Dark Elves.

A hand reached out from the dark, grasping his shoulder, and Alain turned, his left hand a mere blur. But Trey fended off the attack, Alain's outstretched hand slapping against his raised forearm. Alain, shocked, began to apologize, but Trey flapped a hand in the air and motioned behind him. The Formian Queen, her carapace smeared with gore, approached them. Alain looked around. It is said that even five minutes of battle seemed like hours to the combatants, and now he could see the truth of that proverb. The stone was littered with charred Drow corpses.

"The drow threat is ended, and the Hive has paid its debt," the Queen said with what sounded like grim satisfaction. "Though it is unlikely we shall meet again, you have my thanks for our freedom." The Queen bowed low, her insectile legs bending beneath her, her antennae wiggling. Seconds later, a tunnel opened up before them, which the Queen promptly crawled into. A few seconds more, and she was gone, the tunnel closing up behind her. From all around the cavern came the sound of moving dirt, as the other Formians exited in the same method. Then the two were left alone, with only the staring eyes of Drow bodies to watch them.

Trey exhaled slowly, feeling the pent up Ki inside of him leaving through his pores in waves. He was exhausted, fatigue washing into him, deep down into his bones, filling in beneath his skin like jelly. _Ba-Ki _had its drawbacks, and his weariness was chief among them. He got Alain's attention and pointed towards the Drow's former campsite, indicating their next destination.

"Before we move on any further, Alain, I must rest," Trey panted, a bit unsteady on his feet. Alain nodded, and the two made their way over to the ruined campsite.

Soon, a crackling fire has sprung up among the cold embers, and the gloom encompassing the site was pushed back. Trey had set down an old cloak as a blanket and sat down, as Alain went about starting the fire. The older monk's body seemed to shiver, but it was not cold that bothered him. When Alain looked closer, he could see the Ki which drawn into his body earlier begin to seep out like water in a sieve. Trey's eyes were closed, and he did not speak for several minutes, leaving Alain to stoke the fire. Finally, he opened his eyes, and a little of the weariness which had been in them was gone.

"Much better," Trey said in a satisfied tone. He shrugged his shoulders slowly, stretching as one had woken from a long sleep. He looked at Alain, who was staring into the fire, and poking the embers with a stick distractedly. "Something on your mind?"

"Oh, I was wondering if those Formians will be all right," said Alain, looking up. "They've been caught once before, so hopefully it won't happen again."

"Only the Queen matters, and I'm sure she will be loath to put herself into such a vulnerable position again," Trey assured him. "As long as the Queen is untouched, the Hive will never be in danger."

"It's kind of strange though, isn't it?" Alain said, and then, prompted by the look on Trey's face, he continued, "I mean, why does the Queen mean so much to the rest of the Hive? Do they feel any kind of love, or is it just instinct that makes them protect her? Because I know, that if it was one of the workers trapped instead of the Queen, they would have abandoned it." Alain looked at Trey, puzzled. "Does that make sense to you?"

"You can live without your arms or legs, but not without your heart. I cannot claim to know the intricacies of Formian society, but I think that would be a fitting metaphor nonetheless. You remember our first encounter with the Formians?"

Alain nodded slowly. It was hard to forget, really— they had stumbled into a pitfall in the Anarouch and had wound up in the subterranean catacombs of a Formian hive. They had been forced to fight through countless worker and soldier Formians before their Queen had been willing to negotiate. How many lives had they been forced to end until the Queen decided to reconsider? _It is bizarre…but it is their way, I suppose. Voluntary sacrifice for a greater good._

"As for what motivates them," Trey mused, gazing into the fire, "I have no idea. I'd like to think that it was more than instinct that caused the Hive to stay their hand…but it doesn't quite ring true. "

Alain nodded, and for a few minutes the only sound was the crackling pops and snaps of the fire. After a moment, he spoke again, "What was that Ki technique you used back there? It was hard to tell, but it looked like your aura was shrinking."

"I'm surprised you noticed- and impressed," his teacher replied with a nod of approval. Alain smiled and scratched at the back of his neck self-consciously. It wasn't often that Trey paid him compliments, but when he did, they were always well-received. "Your sight is getting better, isn't it? It's called _Ba-Ki: _drawing outer Ki inward."

"Okay…but how does it work, exactly? You were stronger, faster…usually I'm the one leading the charge, but this time, I could barely keep up with you."

"How does it work? Well…" Trey paused briefly, considering how best to explain the technique without losing his student. After a moment, he raised a hand in front of his face. "Disciples of the Way, as I'm sure you know, are trained to channel their aura unconsciously. If I threw a punch at you, you might observe me gathering my Ki into my fist the second before impact."

"Right, right," Alain said, nodding quickly. "The same way I might gather aura at the point of impact to defend against it. I don't even have to think about it, to some degree."

"Correct, it's become second nature. _Ba-Ki, _however, takes a conscious effort, and not just to your fist or your feet, but to your entire body. If my hand was my aura," Alain said, clenching his extended hand before him, "then normally it clenches right before I hit my target. _Ba-Ki _would be like throwing a punch and flexing every muscle in my arm as I do it."

Curiously, Alain swung across his body with his right hand slowly, trying to imitate exactly what Trey had stated. With all of his muscles tightened, his right arm felt a bit like a very tightly coiled snake, ready to strike. "So, you use your aura kind of like a muscle, and keep it tensed for a period of time."

His teacher lowered his hand with a nod. "Very tiring to perform, as you might imagine. The most skilled practitioners can use it for extended periods of time. My own limit is about fifteen minutes. Frankly, that's all the time it should be needed for."

"Alright. Think you could teach it to me?"

"In time, I believe so," Trey said slowly. "But I doubt a proper opportunity will come up, hm?" He gestured to the utter darkness of the place around them. Somewhere off in the gloom, they heard a soft cawing sound, and a dull squelch. Some beast had just taken its meal, no doubt from one of the cooling corpses lying on the ground behind them.

"For now, you should focus on your basic techniques. Fundamentals…"

"Right, right," Alain said, suppressing the sarcasm in his voice to a mere treble, "_Fundamentals._"

"Alain," Trey began reprovingly, "Patience. Haste is man's undoing. No doubt, mightier men than you and I have died in this very place for acting just a second earlier than they should."

Alain's lips pressed together as he nodded and lowered his gaze. The aura around him had shifted to a sickly green. Jealousy? Anger? Perhaps both? Trey sighed. In his current state, it was difficult to tell: gathering his Ki would be strenuous for a while. _He's not going to be your student forever…_

"Continuous, controlled channeling," Trey said solemnly. Alain looked up at him quizzically. "You know the theory behind it, now put it into practice. Guide your ki into your body evenly and retain it. Five seconds, ten seconds…when you manage to reach two minutes without pausing, I'll show you the next step."

Upon seeing Alain's delighted expression, Trey quickly added, "And don't let me catch you practicing in the middle of an ambush. You could _very _easily get yourself killed-"

"Yes, Teacher, thank you!" Alain said, bowing his head deeply.

Trey watched him with a touch of reproach for a long beat, then rose to his feet. "Anyhow, I feel stronger now. We should push on while we can. Halaster should be close. Also," he said, looking around slowly as Alain doused the fire, "we should keep our eyes out for our new friend. With this recent success, she shouldn't be far." With that, the two monks began to look for the exit, the darkness around them complete.


	8. Conclusion

Conclusion

The exit proved to be close nearby their resting spot, and Trey praised their good fortune. The time they had lost waiting for him to recover had been made up in a few minutes. The exit was an ordinary (ordinary compared to every other door they had passed through) made of reinforced adamantine. Trey twisted the doorknob, a corner of his mind positive that this last door would be locked, but it opened and swung back on its hinges noisily.

As they stepped through, Alain spoke suddenly from behind him, breaking the silence, "Trey, I overheard one of the patrons back in the Yawning Portal,"which, he thought to himself, felt like a decade ago, "They say that even the name Undermountain carries a spell, some sort of geas that draws adventurers to this place like a fly into a trap."

Trey paused as he passed over the threshold, thinking on the matter briefly, then shook his head, "I'd have a hard time believing that. I can't imagine the power it would take to enchant a word to work anywhere and everywhere."

"Think about it, though. We're here, aren't we? Maybe the spell gains some sort of strength from each adventurer it lures inside."

"You know our reason is a little different. We're not here for glory, but for…" Trey paused. What would you call their mission: rescuing an arch-mage who may or may not have been captured by legions of Drow? Rescue? Search and destroy? He shook his head slowly, continuing, "For Waterdeep. As for power… wasn't that plague in Neverwinter said to work like that, a kind of snowball effect?"

Alain furrowed his brow, thinking, then brightened almost instantly, "Yes! From each death, the plague grew in power, until it was nigh-unstoppable. But Undermountain…the geas grows in power as it spreads from ear to ear. I bet that word of Undermountain spread very slowly, and then very quickly, when this place was first built."

Trey shrugged, and Alain, seeing he was growing tired of the hypotheticals this conversation was getting, let the matter drop. _Guess it's not too important_, he thought. _All the same…I wonder if I could resist telling anyone that I visited the Undermountain? That is, if I ever get out of here. _

They walked on in silence for a while, listening to the far-off echoes of water dripping from some ancient stalactite, until Trey spoke again, suddenly, "Do you really feel so compelled?"

Alain paused, his stride slowing, before he replied, "Yes…I can feel it. It's a kind of distant thrumming, in the back of my mind. I could ignore it, but it would be like ignoring an itch: it could be done, but it would drive you mad."

Trey nodded, as if he understood. In truth, he felt no such compulsions, magical or otherwise. The only feelings he felt was a nagging sense of urgency to reach Halaster before it was too late; worry in the back of his mind that they were being misled by Nathyrra, and under that, honest curiosity, driving him around the next corner. The sights and sounds of Undermountain were entirely unique to this place, and it was doubtful that he would ever return to this place. .

He raised a hand in the air, stopping dead in his tracks. Alain stopped a second later. Both saw the same sight: a blueish-grey light moving towards them from their left. A few seconds later, as the light grew closer, Alain recognized the light for what it was: an aura. Nathyrra's, to be precise.

The female Drow materialized from the shadows with liquid grace. A small, knowing smile was on her lips, as the Drow sheathed a dagger before moving completely from her hiding place. "We meet again. Somehow I knew we would."

"It's good to see you in one piece," Trey replied, and bowed low. His kind words, along with the exposure of his tan neck, (a gesture hardly ever performed in the world of the drow; one was too busy protecting their neck to show it willingly) served to break through Nathryya's cool demeanor, and for a moment, Alain saw a flash of emotion on her face. Was she flustered? Disgusted?

"I,uh…" Nathrrya stammered, a little put-off at the monk's words, before regaining her composure, "Thank you, it's nice to see you too." She could not remember, not once, when she had greeted anyone like that in the Underdark. The proper reply had come to her at the last second, and though it seemed clumsy in her mind, she supposed that the two men wouldn't think twice of it. She was more than a little relieved when the younger male spoke next.

"How did you know where to find us?" Alain asked, a bit concerned. _Have we been that easy to follow? I know with the magical light, we must look like lanterns, but we still covered our trail, didn't we?_

"I knew you would have to go by this way if you want to rescue Halaster. Farther ahead, a small bridge spans a gap in the cavern. On the other side of the bridge is an encampment of the Valsharess' force."

"Rescue, then. So Halaster is being held captive."

"He is. Captive, but alive."

Trey nodded, considering. They had been lucky enough to fight with the advantage of numbers on their side, but something told him there would be no last minute Formian calvalry to pop up from the earth if the battle turned against them. If you could call two against thirty a battle…and the drow had a hostage as well, which made things even more tricky.

"Thanks for the warning," Alain said. "I guess we'll find a way to sneak by."

"You could do that," Nathyrra answered, "Or…"

"Or?"

"The Drow have set a pair of ballista, siege machines, on one of the cliffs overlooking their camp. If you're spotted, they'll use the ballista to smash you to pieces. However, there's a path leading up to the ballista from behind the camp. If you can take control of the machines, you can wield their own weapons against them!" Nathrrya finished, a rather chilling smile on her face as she finished her thought. Alain didn't much care for her expression, but it _was _a good idea. After all, the more Drow they killed now, the less they would have to deal with on the trip back up.

Alain glanced at Trey, who nodded slightly, and turned to Nathyrra. "Alright then, lead us to it."

But Nathryya was already shaking her head, her white locks spilling over her shoulders like fallen snow. "I cannot. There are others matters I must attend to, and quickly. The passage is very narrow, and is farther north. It looks like a dead end, but there's a tunnel hidden behind some vegetation. Feel about there and you'll find the path up." She looked about suddenly, as if hearing something the two monks could not.

"I must go…unless there is something else?"

"There's nothing," Trey replied, "except thanks for the information. You've saved us once before, and here you are again. I don't know what we've done to deserve your help, but I hope we keep it up."

Nathyrra smiled, unsheathing her dagger as she stepped back into the shadows. For a few moments, both monks could see the glow of her aura moving through the gloom. Then, it was gone, swallowed in the blackness.

"Do you trust her, teacher? Really?"

"Mm?" Trey turned to look his student over with mild interest. "Why wouldn't I?"

"A secret passageway that she's too busy to accompany us to? Come on. It has to be a trap."

"If she wanted us dead, she's already had numerous opportunities," Trey reasoned calmly. "No, our light-footed female friend needs us in one piece for some reason, and I admit that I'm rather curious to learn what that may be."

XxXxXxX

Tenari stalked over to the angry beholder, still snarling and snapping in the middle of the camp. A tight, yet nervous ring of drow had surrounded it, the anxious soldiers fingering triggers on their crossbows as they watched a drow wizard named Leraith converse with the eye tyrant. Between beholders, communication is instaneous and immediate. For everyone else it was a little more difficult. The many-eyed beasts viewed all other races as inferior, and considered even using the common tongue to be degrading.

Leraith was one of the few drow in the camp with the mental acumen to be able to converse with it— though it was a bit more touch-and-go with some phrases than he would like. When you're speaking to a creature that can strike you catatonic with a glance, even the slightest mistakes in etiquette can be fatal. For example, eye tyrants distrusted anything that happened to blink more than twice in a minute, and…

"Leraith, report!"

Leraith broke eye contact as Tenari approached and turned to him, snapping a quick salute. "Sir!"

Tenari returned the salute, and glanced nervously at the Beholder, which was not pleased at being cut off halfway in the middle of its nonsencial tirade. Drool frothed about its mouth, and several eye-stalks glowed first red, then gray, then white, as if the Beholder was unsure which deadly spell to fire first. "What's the situation, Leraith?"

"Well, sir, the beholder seems to have a bit of a complaint with the size of its reward. It seems to think it was promised twice as much as what we discussed."

"What!" Tenari cried in disbelief. "Out of the question! The damn thing was bait, and it must be out of its fleshy little skull to think otherwise."

"Captain," the mage said, shooting a nervous glance at the Beholder, "not so loud… He doesn't understand you, but even a beast understands tone!" And, Tenari saw, this was true. The aberration was unfamiliar with the drow tongue, but it certainly looked like it had gotten the gist of what he had said; even more of its eyestalks were glowing ominously now, and a few drow began to notch their bolts. Conflict was inevitable if the situation escalated, and though there was no doubt of their victory…a barrage of eye bolts would inflict some serious damage on the troops. _In fact,_ he thought, _if anyone's getting turned to stone, it's going to be me or Leraith. And after the human, I wouldn't count on any restorations. _

"Enough of this. Leraith, tell that _thing _that if it wishes to continue negotiating, take it up with the Valsharess. I'm sure she will enjoy haggling over rewards with the servants of a fallen foe."

Leraith nodded, and instantly rattled off something in the guttural, wince-inducing tongue that passed for the aberration's language. That was one thing Tenari liked about him: when he needed something done quickly and without question, Leraith could always be counted on to obey without question.

It also made Tenari nervous. It was the one who showed no outward signs of disloyalty that you needed to watch closely.

The beholder-kin roared in response to Leraith's words, and one of the soldiers surrounding it grunted, bringing his weapon to bear. Leraith raised a hand in protest to the soldier, his lips pressing together in concentration. This was a natural enough response— if fighting was unavoidable, he would be caught in the crossfire before he had the chance to utter a syllable. It was a rather bizarre sight— the slight, robed, altogether timid-looking form of Leraith standing eye-to-eyes with the massive globe of flesh and eyestalks, both of them snarling at each other unintelligibly. Tenari would have laughed if the situation wasn't quite so tense.

Finally, Leraith turned to him and nodded curtly. The beholder-kin floated up and off above them soundlessly as the troopers surrounding it visibly relaxed. Tenari eyed the beast until he could no longer make out its heat signature against the cold stone of the cavern. It hadn't been so long ago that he had been warring against the aberrations under the banner of the Valsharess, and even longer before that, when he had called himself one of House Ni'toraien. Now he was simply Tenari of No House, and belonged to no but himself.

The Valsharess had seemingly accomplished what so many others considered impossible, and actually cowed the xenophobic eye-tyrants into submission, both through strength of arms and her… pet devil. But this was no true alliance, and Tenari despised working with his supposed 'comrades' even more than he loathed their ruler. _At least you don't have to worry about bloodsuckers. Watch in horror as a few more soldiers 'disappear' every cycle, and the ranks of the walking dead get bigger and bigger everytime you turn around…_

The devil was the Valsharess' trump card, what every opponent she faced came to realize set her apart from the average drow matron with ambition and unrealistic dreams of conquest. Couple that with the disappearance of Lloth, and well… even the illithid could bend their rules on working with 'lesser creatures.'

Tenari's eyes wandered towards the bridge spanning an apparently endless drop, perhaps into the very deepest crevasse on Toril. Intuition had taken hold of him, insisting him that something, somewhere was amiss. He had learned better than to dismiss the extrasensory warning that his subconscious sent him. It had been a gut feeling which had told him to make contact with the Valsharess' forces during their siege of his House, and ultimately saved his life.

The drow hadn't felt quite right since being forced to abandon his camp, and this was not a question of ethics, but of hunches and instinct. Tenari's warband had been part of the squad sent to the surface via the Yawning Portal Inn to stage a quick raid and throw the surfacers into disarray, while the main force here was responsible for forcing Halaster to open a more effective means of travel for the Valsharess' army to reach the surface. It had taken the magicks of her finest wizards (_and the pet devil) _to transport them here, but it wasn't a quick enough process. The archmage would expedite things, the Valsharess' forces would rampage through the Undermountain, and the surfacers would fall before their might.

That had been the plan. But nothing was proceeding as it should.

He raised a hand unconsciously to touch the handle of his greatsword, Myrna, strapped to his back, then lowered it to his side as he started off through the camp towards the cave where Halaster was being imprisoned. Vynea, the Valsharess' sixth Red Sister, had her elite guard blocking off the entrance— and they would jump at the chance to execute him for some trumped-up charge if he gave them the opportunity. All the same, Tenari would approach to see what might be gleaned. The Red Sisters were experts at interrogation and torture methods, but it had already been three cycles and still the old madman hadn't cracked. Still, as Vynea had snarled at him only hours ago, they had all the time in the world.

Didn't they?

Humans. Halaster wasn't the only resilient one. There was also the monk who had slain the remains of the warband despite being outnumbered and unarmed. Whispers had spread through the ranks about the surfacer that the Valsharess' diviners had claimed would oppose her, and even though their nameless matriarch had slain many of the gossipers, rumors always find their way to those who listen for them. There was no way of knowing that the man he had encountered was the very same the Valsharess had been shown by her oracles, but all the same, Tenari kept word of his failure to slay him quiet. Undermountain would surely claim him. There was no way one lone human could make it this far…

Of course, he would've said the same about a human's chances of surviving an interview with the Red Sisters not so long ago.

Two stocky females clad in platemail dyed in the Valsharess' trademark colors looked him over as he approached the mouth of the cave. One eyed him with naked contempt, the other with bored amusement— as if he was an insect with delusions of grandeur. The silence stretched between the three for an uncomfortably long minute. Tenari knew what they were doing, of course: daring him to speak first, and give them a reason to take him to task for his insolence. Lloth had disappeared, but Her culture had not. Males still spoke only when spoken to in the Valsharess' ranks.

"What, male?" the woman stationed at the left side of the cave growled at last.

"Any developments? The camp's getting restless and the beholder-spawn isn't helping."

"Handling the troops' is your task, male," the soldier on the right spat acidicly, but for just a moment, Tenari thought he saw doubt in her eyes. It was all he needed to see to guess that Halaster was still resisting, unbelievable as it might seem. "If you are incapable of this, then I have no doubt that there are many who happy to replace you."

"No, that won't be necess-"

From somewhere off to the west, there was a dull CLUNK sound. Then, just behind them, the dead beholder came to earth with a resounding crash. A two-foot long ballista bolt jutted from the beast's main eye cavity, which had popped like a swollen zit upon reaching the ground. Black ichor sprayed across the stone, dousing the three dazed drow in the foul liquid.

Tenari swiped some of the fluid of his cheek numbly, his eyes locked on the dead beholder. _Jelly, _he thought in a dim haze, _it's from it's eyes and it's all over,_ and then, an intuition so powerful and unexpected hit him like a warhammer, stealing his breath away. _The human! That damned monk! He's here!_

"That's from the ballista, isn't it?" one of the soldiers muttered to no one in particular. "What in the…"

But he could hear no more. His armor clinked rhythmically as he bolted towards the ridge— into the line of fire— at top speed. It had to be the monk. It had to be his failure. And if anyone were to discover he failed…

"AMBUSH!" Tenari bellowed at the top of his lungs. From the ridge above, more ballista bolts whistled ominously, as they fell in their death-dive towards the , he could hear cries of panic and barked orders being shouted. Some of his men were diving into tents, behind stalagmites, anything to give them some cover from the steel rain. Others were mobilizing…

But too slowly. Far too slowly.

XxXxXxXxX

Sweat covered Trey's brow in a fine sheen, as he rotated a small metal crank connected to the ballista in a counterclockwise motion. The ballista rotated to its left, its hinges squeaking slightly as he brought the weapon to bear on his next target. Nathyrra had been as good as her word: the ballistas she had spoken of were in working condition and magically enhanced. It was constructed out of lumber that was entirely unlike anything on the surface— wood that was a cool gray and cold to the touch. The bowstrings were made out of some unknown animal sinew, tough and wiry to the touch, but it was the projectiles the machine fired that were the true oddity. There was only a lone bolt, a simple wooden shaft with a head of iron that was notched easily.

The secret passage Nathryya had told them about had been a sort of tunnel, which opened beneath a stone on the far side of the ridge. Some sort of Undermountain mole must have dug it, for the path was too smooth and unmarked for it to be a natural formation, but its creator was long gone now. To theirgood fortune, there was no guard on the slope, and when the monks looked below at the camp from the lip of the cliff, they saw a group of the drow force surrounding a beholder— perhaps the very same beast which had started this mess in the first place. There were also two ballistas lining the path up to the slope. The path up the ridge was narrow, and it was the size of the path that was the main inspiration for Trey's plan.

Trey would use the catapults to attack the camp, while Alain would be his look-out. Sooner or later, when the Drow discovered they were being attacked with their own war-machines, they would regroup, and charge the ridge, hoping to slaughter their attackers. The size of the path, however, meant that only so many could come at a time. Until magic came into the equation, they might be able to hold off a direct assault for a few minutes at best…and a lot of damage could be done in a short amount of time.

_Only if you pick the right targets._

Two drow males stood apart from the beholder, speaking in hushed tones. One wore the sweeping garments that belied one of a wizardly occupation, while the other seemed strangely familiar to him…tempting targets, but the beholder was a safer target. He chanced a quick glance at Alain, who was looking grim from his place at the top of the slope. In one of the tents nearby, his student had discovered a few crates filled with various handheld throwing weapons, fire-and-forget tools that the drow were fond of: alchemist's fire, caltrops, acid flasks, and so on. Alain had compiled the incendiaries in a few small canvas bags, which were arranged in a semi-circle pattern around him. They would prove to be crucial to the chaos that would come.

As he turned his attention back to the camp below, he saw that the beholder-kin had taken to the skies, the stand-off with the dark elves apparently at an end. Already it was moving high and out of sight, perhaps even out of range for the ballista, and the monk concentrated, narrowing his eyes in concentration. The dirty gray and black shades of the beast's aura swam into view, in stark contrast to the darkness around it, but it was already fading from view. In a few moments, their window of opportunity would be gone…and drow and duergar they could handle, but the aberration was another thing entirely.

_Fly true, _he thought, and pulled hard on the lever. The bowstrings released with an audible TWANG, the single bolt flew…

And before his eyes, perhaps in defiance of his eyes, the lone bolt twisted and grew with every foot it flew through the air. By the time it had reached the beholder, the bolt was roughly the size and shape of a thrown spear. It was hard to believe that he had fired such a thing, and that was when Trey realized that an identical crossbow bolt had set itself in the ballista, primed and ready to be fired.

_Well, I'll be damned._

XxXxXxXxX

"Captain Tenari, what's going on? Some kind of trick of Halaster's?" Leraith shouted as they huddled behind a low-hanging formation of rock. The sickly-sweet smell of spilled blood wafted in the air, doubtless buoyed to his nostrils by the thunderous cracks of javelin-sized crossbow bolts puncturing the stone. Leraith had done his job too well, and now they were admiring his handiwork firsthand.

Tenari seized the hem of the wizard's robe with a hand, and discovered that he wanted to hit him, very hard. The slight alarm he saw in the mage's eyes only heightened that particular wish. Ruthlessly, he quashed it. Another time. "Shut up! We can still come out of this with our heads on our necks if we move quickly, you understand?"

Leraith nodded, his eyes showing no signs of fear, or worry. Not of _him, _anyway. The Valsharess was another matter entirely.

"I'm going to round up whoever's left and make a run for the slope," Tenari barked tersely. A bolt smashed into the ground a few feet away from their position, showering them in a fine spray of gravel. The two flinched, but it didn't prevent Tenari from seeing the silent calculation in the wizard's narrowed eyes. He was judging his chances, determining the odds of escape. It was a rather typical reaction, and one that he had planned for. "You and I are going to get in close while our shooter's occupied, and you're going to destroy the ballistas before it wipes us out. And if you even think about turning and running, Leraith, I'll make sure Myrna runs you through before the sniper gets a shot off. " He patted the hilt of his greatsword to punctuate his point and was gratified to see a crack of fear in Leraith's composure. He gave the frail drow a shove with his free hand, nearly pushing him into the path of a speeding bolt. "Now move!"

XxXxXxXxX

Once he had gotten the knack of maneuvering the ballista, the rest had fallen neatly into place. When he didn't have the shrieks of wounded drow to guide him, their auras served just as well. In the end, however, he was only one man with too many targets. Some were bound to slip through the storm.

"Incoming!" Alain warned, eyeing the approaching group of drow from below. Five in all, and already out of the line of sight for the ballista only extended so far…much too close. Alain cracked his knuckles, more out of nervousness than preparation, mentally planning out his attack. Five at a time was too much, but taken one or two at a time…it was doable. Above all, he couldn't let a single one of the soldiers get to Trey. The siege weapon _had _to keep firing if they wanted a chance at coming out of this battle alive.

Two of the drow soldiers appeared over the ridge at a brisk pace, panting with exertion and eyes narrowed in anger. Perhaps they were expecting to see a small army, some form of vengeance for their attacks on the surface, but certainly not a pair of unarmed humans. Alain saw their eyes widen in confusion for the barest moment, saw his opportunity and sprang to take it.

"GRAAAAAAH!"

_War cries are for the very loud and the very foolish, _Trey had told him months ago, after a brief but memorable encounter with a tribe of gnolls under the command of a human sorceress. _But if you must shout like a loon, do it right as you attack, and not a second before. Your opponent will often have enough advantages without you handing him one more._

The two soldiers paused for just a split-second, stunned at both the stupidity of a lone, unarmed human attacking two armed, battle-ready drow as well as the sheer volume of his cry. It was all Alain needed. He lunged forward, throwing his weight into a hard right elbow to the nose of the drow on his right. The soldier, who had begun to swing his sword, staggered, and the blade slipped from his grasp. Deftly, Alain caught the sword, grabbing it by the handle seconds before it fell over the edge. Then, he jabbed a right palmful of Ki into the whimpering Drow's gut. The bleeding soldier overbalanced, teetered, then fell head over heels down the hill.

His companion quickly moved to correct the error his comrade had made, bringing a battleaxe across his body in a short, fast arc. Alain backpedaled hastily, and the deadly weapon swished harmlessly through the air where his ribcage had been just moments earlier. Not to be outdone, the monk hurled the longsword he had acquired at the soldier, who batted it aside with surprising adroitness. Before the drow could advance another step, however, Alain had stooped and snatched up one of the canvas bags at his feet, their contents clinking together noisily. He gave the bag a speedy underhand toss that his opponent barely avoided in time, twisting out of the way, his chainmail clinking. The bag burst in a rather showy display as its contents mixed and ignited, quickly growing into a wall of greenish flames which must have been painfully bright to the eyes of the dark elves.

Not to be outdone, Alain had followed closely behind his incendiary, and in the time it the drow to dodge his projectile, Alain delivered a short but accurate kick to his midsection. The drow's chainmail would have made such a manner of attack useless from anyone else, but Alain had yet to meet an armor which could stop Ki. The drow doubled over as all the air in his lungs abruptly took its leave. Alain gave the recovering shoulder a harsh shove that sent him tumbling down the slope, directly into the path of the hungry flames. He suppressed a grimace as the shrieks of the burning dark elf rose into the air like smoke.

It took him a moment to realize the that methodic THOCK-THOCK-THOCK of the ballista had gone silent, and a moment more to recognize that his firewall had blocked off the next trio of drow from approaching. He gave Trey a questioning look, and his student pointed to the siege machine simply, motioning him over with a hand.

"Time's up, I'm afraid. If they've got a spellcaster with them, your fire won't last too long either." Alain saw that the surface of the ballista had been eaten away by some fact-acting bowstrings had snapped and the magical bolt had degraded past the point of repair. Doubtless, the other ballista was in a similar condition.

"How…?"

"Situational awareness, Alain. Their mage fired off a spell, brought down great globs of acid. Missed me by a hair, but I was never the target. We retreat," Trey finished tersely, giving a nod towards the tunnel. Alain gave him a questioning look _(Why run?_ _I can handle them!) _but said nothing, and followed his teacher's commands.. Alain was, Trey thought, probably scrutinizing his own abilities, looking for some explanation as to why they were retreating. The true reason had nothing to do with his student. Trey had recognized the leading drow from the first floor of the Underdark, he with the stones of teleportation.

_Why is he here? Why didn't he go back to the Underdark? _He wondered. Then, an answer came from the depths of his consciousness, maddening in its simplicity: _Because his role is not over. _Nothing more, and yet that seemed answer enough. He spent a last look at the wavering flames screening the top of the hill before following after Alain.

The flames blocking their path were extinguished with a whipcracking boom of light followed by a odorless, gentle breeze. Tenari reached the top of the hill first, his blade in hand and murder in his eyes. But it was just as he feared: the ballistae were abandoned and the monks gone.

"Gods DAMN it!" Tenari screeched, mad with rage. He swung his blade wildly in the air, his head pounding, and Leraith and the other soldiers took a step back, safely out of range of the greatsword. Normally the captain was the type to keep his cool under fire, as was evident from his actions during the bombardment. It was rare for him to lose his composure in such a visible display.

Tenari's swings began to ebb in force, as he realized the futility of his actions until at last he came to stop. He reined in the rage that threatened to overwhelm him with a momentuous effort— because to fail in doing so may mean his death, and he had simply come too far to allow his emotions to damn him sheathed his sword, and walked to the edge of the cliff, surveying the damage of the camp below. Most of the fires were beginning to burn out on their own, and the few fleeting Drow figures he saw among them were moving out of sight A voice spoke up from behind him, the tiniest tremble in his voice. The grunt.

"Commander. What should we do?" The soldier said, steadying his voice with far more effort than it had taken him to cast away his anger. The monk had been here, and somehow slipped through his fingers. But no one else was aware of that fact. For the moment, Tenari's failure still remained a secret, and one that could be rectified.

He turned, fixing the speaker with a steely glare."Thrice-damned rebels were here. I know it. And the Valsharess will hear of this. The rest of you, flee, fight, I care not. As far as I'm concerned, this is Vynea's problem now."

Tenari pulled a small stone from his pocket, a remnant of the supply from his first mission, and spoke the word of command. "_Tokrah."_

A gust of wind, a flash of light, and both the captain and Leraith were gone, leaving yellow-green afterimages in the soldiers' dazzled eyes. Just like that, they were alone and without a chain of command— and working under Vynea was no work at all. Still, the safest place nearby was the cave, where Halaster's interrogation was taking place. The Drow, a luckless male named Debluth, tightened his belt and made his way back down the hill, fervently praying to Lloth that the rebels had decided to retreat.

XxXxXxXxX

The campsite blaze was dying down to the last few embers when the two monks crossed the bridge. Trey, when he saw the last of the fire he had created, was reminded strongly of his childhood on the outskirts of the Anarouch desert. Fire was a deadly weapon in the desert— did you sacrifice your precious water to save your livelihood, or watch it all burn away and hope you could start over?

"Trey! Over here!" Alain hissed, and Trey walked over to where his student was standing, near the blackened ashes of a tent, a few feet away from the entrance of the cave. The group of Drow they had seen prior to the ambush had disappeared, scattered either to the surrounding area or the cave mouth itself.

"Look at this," Alain said, gesturing to the contents of a soot-black chest he had found. Trey stooped forward, his expression first curious, then delighted as he realized what Alain had found.

"Our stolen equipment! Alain, a good find!" Trey exulted, pulling two small, silver bracers from the chest. The bracers were light and surprisingly flexible despite their material; they had been given to him on the day of his initiation into the Way of the Open Palm. He slipped them on now, as easily as he did when he had first received them, so many years ago. The bracers flexed slightly, seeming to sigh as it conformed to fit his wrists. Their own miniature aura encompassed them, both drawn and separate from his own."I had feared these were lost for good." Trey said quietly. "Tymora favors the bold. We should move on while we can."

"Hold on a minute," said Alain. "We can't take everything with us, but we can at least change back into our robes." He removed the tunic and pants from the chest, ignoring the tinkle and clink of some of their other goods, and placed it on the top of the chest. "Also..." he took a few miscellaneous potions from the chest, and stuffed them into a small Bag of Holding he wore about his belt. "There we go." Alain said, sounding satisfied. "Just in case."

"Good thinking," Trey replied, taking his clothes. "Change quickly. There may be unfriendly eyes about, and I know how sensitive you are about your privacy." Alain rolled his eyes, and stepped behind a boulder. All was still, and the only sound that could be heard was the crackling embers of a few smouldering flames from the ridge. A trail of footprints in the dust led them towards a cave…and the lifeless bodies of two drow women, their throats slit and their eyes staring at them, almost in accusation. Before they had time to guess at who was responsible, the guilty party spoke up from the darkness.

"Not a moment too soon," Nathyrra commented mildly, stepping out from her hiding place in the shadows. This time, her arrival had caught them both unawares, though each suspected that she would show herself soon.

_After all, _Alain thought. _We're getting close right? Very close. Nothing left but one more fight, the resolution and final farewells. _

"Friends of yours?" Alain quipped sarcastically, gesturing to the bodies.

"We have no time for jokes!" Nathyrra snapped, the beginnings of anger creeping into her voice. She shook her head and continued, "The personal guard for the Red Sisters, the group of assassins employed by the Valsharess."

"We are familiar with them, I think," Trey muttered, giving Alain a sidelong glance. Nathyrra nodded.

"Further on…" she gestured into the yawning maw of the cavern, "is Halaster, along with several drow. Halaster is trapped inside a magical ring of energy, with three rune stones as the circle's focus."

_Just like the Formian Queen, _Trey thought._ Except that focus was only one mage, instead of runes…_ "If we destroy the stones…" Trey began.

"Then Halaster will be released, and can take care of our enemy for us," Nathrrya finished for him. "At least, in theory."

"In theory?"

"He has been interrogated for some time, and from what I've heard, it is truly a wonder that he is still alive," Nathyrra said slowly. "I suspect that the magicks sustaining the runes have something to do with that. It is also a possibility that the shock of destroying the runes may…kill him."

Alain hissed through his teeth. "Lovely thought. Is there no other way?"

"We don't have the time to find one. It's possible, almost for certain, in fact, that a few survivors from your attack on the camp slipped inside and have warned those waiting inside. The element of surprise is crucial if we are to survive."

"You say we?" Alain asked, with a hint of scorn in his voice. "Are you planning to join us, or just watch the action again?" Trey flashed him a disapproving look, but Nathyrra chose to ignore it.

"Yes, this time, I will fight along with you. Don't worry, as you can tell," she made a slight gesture to the corpses at their feet. "I can handle myself."

"Fine. Here's the plan." Alain said, lowering his voice to a business-like tone. A strange sensation crept into Nathyrra's mind like a thief in the night, one of muted indignation. Where did this human, (an apprentice of Trey's, most likely) get off giving orders, when he was clearly out of his element? The teachings of Eilistraee stressed patience, temperance, but the stripling's attitude seemed to place those notions far beyond her capabilities.

"Think before you speak, boy. This is no mere band of brigands that you might be used to on the surface, but a Red Sister and her entourage. She's slain more warriors than you've seen in twenty cycles, and half of them showed more caution than you!"

"We've survived for this long, haven't we?" Alain shot back. "Not that you would have noticed, hiding in the shadows, right? You seem more like a tour guide, not a warrior!"

Nathyrra's dark eyes flashed in anger, but before she could deliver a scathing retort, Trey cut her off.

"That's enough, both of you. We have _no_ time for bickering."

His words were much softer than the pair, but neither needed to strain to hear him. Trey continued slowly, looking at both of them in turn.

"Nathyrra, I've trusted my life to Alain more than once. He has a talent for strategy, and he's proven it time and again. If there's a battle plan to be made, he's your man." Alain hid a smile, secretly pleased at his teacher's praise. It was true, even though Trey was being a bit modest about his own contributions. But he had always said that he could have been a great general…if he had decided to follow a different path.

"Nonetheless, Alain, Nathyrra has been of great help to us. To ignore her now would be to court disaster. We need her just as much as she needs us. I won't hear any more on that matter," he concluded with an air of finality, and though Nathyrra could still sense the unvoiced opinions in his eyes, Alain showed no sign of disobeying his teacher. _Amazing, _the assassin thought dimly. _He not only settled the argument, but he's refocused us. _All of a sudden, she felt a little better about their chances of success. There was a slight pause, and then Alain continued.

"Sorry," he said awkwardly, scratching his head in an uncharacteristic show of sheepishness. "Anyhow, you probably have a better chance of being able to destroy those stones than we can, right?" Nathyrra nodded. She had prepared a specific spell for that purpose. "Right. Then we'll get you there. Trey and I will come up the middle, about ten feet away from each other, and you'll follow, about five feet back. That way, we can't be taken out in one attack." Trey and Nathyrra nodded. It made sense.

"What about the archers? And warriors? And the mages?" Nathyrra inquired.

"I'll handle the foot soldiers. Trey will take the archers. The mages, I'll leave to you. Basically, we act as cover. As long as you can free Halaster, then he should take care of the rest. Hopefully, he won't kill us too…" Alain trailed off darkly. Both Nathyrra and Alain looked at Trey, and the older monk suppressed a weary sigh. _Feels like I've been fighting for five days straight. Well, rest comes soon or not at all. _

On his nod, the three crept into the cavern, listening for any sounds betraying an ambush on the other was Nathyrra who caught the sounds of muffled voices coming from further within. The humans couldn't make out any words, but Nathyrra recognized a male, older voice, and a female voice. _Priestess. _She thought.

Trey pushed the door open, and pulled two shurikens from his pocket, pressing them together in their fingers. Alain followed suit, and the two entered the room, moving slowly and deliberately, ten feet away from each other.Nathyrra was last, pausing only to murmur the incantations for a useful, if temporary enchantment of invisibility. From far above, she heard a shrill whistle, and then arrows began to fall around them in a brief, deadly hail.

The two monks moved in tandem, their hands blurring in their haste, each deftly striking an arrow from its murderous flight. Broken shafts and arrowheads clattered to the ground around them like so much refuse, and they had barely broken in their stride. From further ahead, Nathyrra saw the first duergar and drow troops approaching them, and behind those, the familiar garments worn by a Red Sister flanked by two wizards. _That's my mark, _stated a voice from the back of her mind, the one voice she couldn't seem to dim no matter how much she learned of Eilistraee. It was the voice of the assassin she had once been, a voice which lived for the sight of her daggers opening a jugular like a parting curtain.

She sped up her stealthy creep to a jog, flitting from shadow to shadow, moving past Alain, who had just begun to meet the first of his adversaries. Idly, she noted that the younger monk fought to disarm and disable, killing only when necessary. A hand-axe flew past her and thudded into the stone; its former wielder was more concerned with cradling his fractured wrist and shrieking.

She blocked out the extraneous sounds of battle, the thin Plinks! of arrows hitting the stone, and meatier Thuds! of fists finding flesh, and concentrated on her target. Halaster seemed to be incapacitated, held within a tight circle of magical light which circled his body in criss-crossing patterns of black and red. She began the incantation for a fireball, learned by heart, her hands already tingling with the first familiar sensations of heat. One sharp-eyed wizard noticed the growing light from the corner of his eyes, but by the time he turned, the sphere of flame had already struck home, shattering one of the rune stones and knocking him off of his feet, singed. The remaning mage managed to keep his balance, but she was still gratified to see the look of naked surprise on his face. Shock turned to rage as Nathyrra's concealment spell faded, and his hands began to make the necessary incantations for what she recognized as a spell of holding. Nathyrra prepared a spell of her own quickly, but she was too slow, and a flicker of cyan light burst as the spell hit her. She fought it, her hands moving as if they were underwater, and cast her own spell, sending a magical blast of white light at the mage. The spell connected, and a queer feeling of double vision fell over her; she could see the mage clearly in her own eyes, but in her mind, she was staring at herself, through his. All of his mind lay bare to her, open like a book, and she would've gotten lost in the Drow's many experiences and encounters if her battle-minded self had not taken over. The mage knew a powerful spell, Chain Lightning, and already she knew what to do. She performed the hand motions, knowledge that came from the wizard's mind, and said the word of command, aiming (in her mind) for the next rune stone. A flare of blue light cracked from his (_her_) hands, followed by numb fingers. The lightning connected with the stones, infusing it with magical energy, then leapt to the next rune stone, then to the Drow priestess nearby, who had not yet noticed her. The female dark elf grunted, her jaws snapping shut as her body convulsed with electricity, before slumping to the ground. The rune stones cracked, leaking magical energy, then snapped, crumbling into dust. The energy holding Halaster seemed to tighten then released entirely.

"Quick!" cried one of the Drow archers. "Stop him, before he can use his magic!"

Sadly, it was too late for the Drow invaders. The mage gave a great cry, raising hands in the air, and seconds later a blinding white light burst from them. The three allies shut their eyes, crying in pain; the light seemed to pierce even their eyelids with its intensities. Slowly the light dimmed, then the cave returned to its perpetual gloom. Nathyrra looked about, still blinking back tears of pain. Drow corpses lay about her, burned almost to cinders, nearly unrecognizable for what they were, and she thought she could smell ozone in the air. It was lucky Halaster hadn't mistaken her for an enemy too.

The three approached the insane mage cautiously, fearing any further attacks. However, the old man didn't even seem to be paying attention to his saviors; rather, he seemed to be inspecting the area around with a wide-eyed expression Trey didn't much like. Finally, Trey cleared his throat hesitantly, and the mage turned to face them. He was a wide-eyed, pale man whose choice of dress seemed to favor absurdly bright colors. His pupils were two different colors, one blue, one green, and they seemed to shift color as they darted about the room. He brushed the dust off of his green and gold sleeves with authority, then sniffed dismissively.

"You're not the ones I expected to see. But I'll let you live, since you set me free." His eyes danced over the three, alighting on them for just a moment before they turned to the corpses. His lower lip pooched out in annoyance. Under his breath, he murmured something that Trey couldm't make out, but it had a decidedly rhythmic quality to it. _Does he…actually speak in rhyme? Oh, my, this will be difficult._

"Gee, how kind of you," Alain muttered. "It's a good thing I wasn't expecting any gratitude for this rescue…"

"Hush!" Nathyrra hissed, grabbing his sleeve. "Don't forgot he's an archmage, or the power he just demonstrated. Try not to anger him!" Alain shook her off, though a smirk still played on his lips. Halaster showed no signs of hearing their exchange— instead he had begun to pace around the chamber, pausing every so often to give one of the burnt carcasses a kick in the side. Trey swallowed hard, a bad taste coming into his mouth. This man was trouble. It was time to finish their business and go.

"Halaster Blackcloak, the Lords of Waterdeep respectfully request that you seal whatever portal that the drow are using to enter Waterdeep."

"I've watched their village grow into a city. Now, they have the nerve to ask favors of me?" Halaster said, rolling his eyes. One eyeball seemed to get stuck, and Alain suppressed a nervous giggle as the mage smacked the side of his head with a hand to loosen it. It wasn't a particularly humorous display— on the contrary, it only deepened Trey's anxieties. Incredible power in the hands of a lunatic: it was a lucky thing that Halaster kept his attention fixated on his precious Undermountain, rather than on matters above.

"Since they sent you to help me, I'll do them one better." Halaster continued, his voice growing louder. "Since I must stay here, you two will go to get her."

"Get who? Why us?" Alain asked, but Trey thought he knew the answers to those questions. He still remembered his dream in the Yawning Portal Inn, of his would-be assassin. The Valsharess, who was undoubtedly responsible for both the presence of the drow they had encountered so far, as well as Nathyrra. They had struck her forces an indirect blow by freeing Halaster, but would-be conquereror were usually annoyingly persistent. She would find another way, and the reprieve that Waterdeep had gained would be temporary at best.

"There are others than us who can do that job better, Halaster. Surely you can see that." Trey said, appealing to the madman's reason. The Way of the Open Palm stated that if an appeal for help came to a disciple, acceptance of the request must be voluntary. There should be no coercion of any kind involved, for a monk took even a request for aid as a personal trial, a way to become a better person, not as simply some form of labor.

Halaster was clearly ignorant of the intricacies behind their Order, of course. The mad mage waved a hand, a seemingly innocuous gesture that nonetheless caused the two monks to inhale sharply. The hairs on the backs of their neck prickled as some unseen spell sank into them. To Trey, it felt like as if thousands of tiny hooks had been pressed beneath his flesh and then given a sharp yank upwards all at once. For Alain, it felt as if he was being wrapped in chains, head to toe, and then tethered to some very large, very temperamental beast of burden.

"What did you…" Alain began a bit weakly, running his hands over his forearms tentatively. The sensation of being confined was unmistakable, but there were no visible signs to confirm his suspicions.

Nathyrra gasped, recognizing the spell for what it was. "He's placed a geas on you both! It's a powerful curse that will compel you to follow his will. If you disobey, you're doomed to a slow death!"

Halaster grinned slyly, like a man sharing a dirty joke with a friend. With another wave of his hand, he created a small portal with a soundless POP, similar to the various openings they had seen throughout Undermountain. "What a smart little girl! And my will is this: enter the portal, and kill that Drow witch! Once the Valsharess is dead, the spell goes away. But until then, you have no choice but to do as I say. Once she's gone, I promise, you'll really be free…as long as you don't do something foolish, and come back for me."

The older monk fell silent, concentrating on the tattered wizard. After a few moments, the mage's aura, a bewilderingly beautiful mix of colors, swam into view. From above Halaster, Trey could see a small tendril of his aura branch off into two, that was now connected to his aura as well as Alain's. Likely it would remain that way, until Halaster was satisfied. _Bound again. Only this time, no shock collars._

With a slight sigh, Trey resigned themselves to their fate— though Alain looked absolutely mutinous at Halaster's magical imposition. In truth, had they not already accepted Nathyrra's cause by following her advice, accepting her aid? _Just what is her cause exactly?_ That was an easy question. She wanted the Valsharess stopped, and now Halaster had magically bound them to doing just that, or die in the attempt. A coincidence? _There is no coincidence. We're being guided here, manipulated. But how? _

Alain was struck by a sudden thought: the halfling thief who had inadvertently saved his life in the Drow raid in the Yawning Portal. "Alright, Halaster, we've got no choice. But there are at least three other adventurers here in your dungeon, from Waterdeep. They should be sent back to the top."

He expected Halaster to refuse, but the mage nodded. "Since you're now in my service, sure, I'll help them out. I'm cleaning Undermountain, don't have any doubts. Those three I'll send to the top. Waterdeep will know the invasion will stop. Matters will be set right, from floor to floor. My home shall be just as it was before."

"Please, Halaster, if you're sending those two down, send me as well. I have allies in the Underdark, and Trey and Alain will need help. The Seer wants to see the Valsharess gone as well. Please." Nathyrra pleaded, hoping fervently she wouldn't be struck dead in a sudden mood swing.

"You make a good point, and you asked so nice. Very well, drow, I'll take that advice. You can go to, you won't stay here. I'll send all three of you to the camp of the Seer." Halaster replied, and then his smile disappeared. A scowl replaced it just as abruptly. "Enough time has been wasted, it's time for you to go. The Valsharess is waiting so many miles below."

Alain locked his eyes on Halaster's, hard brown eyes meeting his two-tone ones. "This isn't over, Halaster. Pray we don't find you again."

The mage only grinned, and stuck out his tongue in a childish show of defiance. Then, Alain's vision went black. He dimly heard a rushing sound, his body moving through space, hurtling towards an unknown destination.


	9. Revelation

Revelation

There was the thump of their feet meeting stone, but no accompanying light, and for a few terrified seconds, Trey thought that the crazy old wizard had blinded them. Then his vision cleared, and all he could do was blink blearily in shock, like a hermit forced into the unforgiving sunlight. His immediate surroundings couldn't have shocked him more than if he was truly blind.

They had been teleported to a temple of some sort, though it resembled no place of worship they had ever entered on the surface. There were no fountains, no kindly old men seeking alms or silent pilgrims attending mass. Instead, they were greeted by a sculpture of a large, hideous spider-being, which hung ominously over an ornate altar of obsidian. The idol, carved from onyx, had the body of a woman from the waist up, and eight wicked looking legs attached to a large abdomen from the waist below. Splattered across the idol's chest were faint, but unmistakable splashes of dried blood. Similar, smaller idols decorated the walls of the temple, painstakingly carved out of some glittering mineral, and each seemed to have a cruel glint in their eye. Drow runes ran the length of the Temple's walls below them, which Trey did not understand, though its implications undoubtedly leaned towards a foul nature. Despite its gruesome appearance, the Temple lacked the malicious aura that such places of worship seemed to collect, and Trey understood that the Temple had been purified of whatever influence had created it. He quickly forgot to gape at the temple once he noticed the twenty drow spearpoints pointed in their direction.

"We're under attack!"

"Protect the Seer!"

"Look out!"

In their peripheral vision, there were the telltale signs of rapid movement— assassins stepping from their shadows, perhaps, or drow bowstrings tightening. Alain's hand inched towards his pocket full of shurikens, and if he was not stopped when he was, then their entire story would have changed. But he was, and here we are.

"Lay down your weapons, do you not recognize one of our own?" said a calm, female voice, slicing through the tension like butter. And, surprisingly, the drow soldiers obeyed. The spears were raised, and the warriors moved back ever so slightly, though Alain noticed they were staring at them as if they were expected to explode.

Nathyrra took no notice of the warriors' hostility, however, she stepped between two anxious warriors and bowed low to another female in a flowing dress of silver and grey, quite unlike anything he had seen the drow wear. "It's good to be back, Mother Seer."

_So this is the Seer. _Trey thought, studying the female from between the gaps of spear points. She looked the same as every other Drow female he had encountered, and yet different in some vital and decisive way. When she turned to meet his gaze, it came to him in a flash: she was the first Drow to look at him with an absence of any sort of fear, suspicion, or open hostility towards him. Her eyes almost seemed to bore into him, piercing his eyes like they were no more than glass, and viewing the mind behind them. He concentrated, feeling a mental click in his mind, and her aura blinked into focus. The Seer's aura was a shifting membrane of white and blue, utterly beautiful. Trey had never seen anything like it before, and he wondered if Alain had noticed it yet.

_It's not normal…_ he thought, and for a second grew afraid, as if the Seer could hear his very thoughts. _She's a goddess…or touched by one. _The Seer smiled serenely at him, like a dear friend, and suddenly, the idea of her hearing his thoughts didn't seem so absurd.

"It is good that you have returned, Nathyrra. And I see that you have brought guests with you." The Seer said, her eyes twinkling. She approached them, seeming to glide over the ground rather than walk, and bowed low. "Welcome rivvils. I am the Seer. I have been waiting for this moment for some time."

Questions whirled around Alain's head, along with the various other unfounded suspicions of this "Seer". The stupidest question of all bumped its way to his tongue quicker than the others, leaving him wishing he had just said nothing at all, "Did you just call us rivvils?"

"It is no insult, merely the Drow word for your race. I shall refer to you as Alain, if you prefer." The Seer said. This answer allowed him to segue quite easily led to his next question:

"How do you know my name?" Alain demanded, though he already guessed the answer. Seer meant prophet, and _this _Seer must have foreseen them in a vision. _Kind of like Daschnaya, _he thought. _Only the old hin liked a lot more flash with her divinations, tarot cards and all._

"All of your questions shall be answered in due time," the Seer said, steering the conversation away from herself. "But first there are things you must know about the Valsharess, if you are to stop her plot."

"Hold on a second-" Alain began to say, before Nathyrra neatly cut him off in mid-sentence, with the ease she must have had cutting off an opponent's limb.

"Please, allow me, Seer." Nathyrra interjected, facing Alain and Trey. "The Drow society is divided into Houses, each ruled over by one Matron Mother. Nearly all Drow worship the Dread Spider queen Lloth, who, in turn for their worship, reward the Houses with power— political, divine and otherwise. However, Lloth is as fickle as she is cruel, and no House is allowed too much power for too long. It's quite common for a powerful Matron to be overthrown by a lesser House, with the help of an ambitious daughter. Lloth was a fan of irony."

_Structured chaos, _Trey thought. _The Drow, reduced to playthings for a goddess. How long does a society go along with such madness until it becomes commonplace? _Alain's mind was elsewhere, and he interrupted quickly, "What happened to Lloth?"

Nathyrra gave him a withering look, not used to being interrupted and liking it even less. Alain weathered it though, and she replied with a distinct measure of annoyance. "That's what I was getting to. The Drow society was thrown into disorder with Lloth's disappearance. And _no,_" she said, giving Alain a piercing look, as if to stop his next question, "no one knows the reason why. A power vacuum ensued, and though the Valsharess was nothing more than a matron mother before Lloth's disappearance, she quickly took control."

"How was that possible?" Trey asked. "Surely she had no more troops than anyone else, under Lloth's rule."

"That is true," said the Seer. "However, the Valsharess had summoned a Duke of the Nine Hells, an archdevil which she bent to her will...somehow." Her face grew troubled briefly, and it was obvious that the specifics of this particular feat were still a matter of discussion. "Through his power, she was able to wrench control of the Underdark. Those who opposed her were crushed and enslaved."

"Is it possible," Alain said, butting in again, "that Lloth's disappearance is linked to this devil's appearance?" He was thinking of the giant spider creature he and Trey had seen in the Undermountain, in the space between planes. _Maybe that was Lloth in all her glory. Banished…but not dead._

"I suppose…" Nathyrra said doubtfully, thinking to herself, "though it's unlikely." She shook her head then, as if dismissing that train of thought. "Anyhow, the Valsharess grew in power steadily, and she turned her ambitions towards the surface."

"And she tried to get there through Undermountain?" Trey asked.

"Exactly."

"What do we have to do with this?" Alain cried in frustration. Trey gave him a disapproving look, and Alain knew why. The Way of the Open Palm dictated that they had taken up Nathyrra's cause when they had helped her free Halaster. As a result, they were bound to help her. Still…why did it seem like they were being forced down this path without any choice in the matter? Each reason Nathyrra gave for their involvement seemed like another chain binding them down, another shove into a dark tunnel by invisible hands.

"It involves you, because she wants you dead," the Seer said flatly, and Alain had to try hard to resist rolling his eyes. _Just one more link in the chain. _

"The archdevil told the Valsharess that there was one person who could stop her. An augury was performed, and she was shown an image of you." She continued, looking directly at Alain..

"My dream…" Trey said, putting a hand to his head absently. It was still clear in his mind… the various rituals performed by the wizards… the blinding light, and the expectation of seeing himself surprisingly denied. It was Alain that had stood before the Valsharess… his only student.

"Yes," the Seer sighed. "I had the same dream. You, Alain, appear to be singled out to face the Valsharess."

"Me!" Alain cried in shock.

"Him?" said a nearby tiefling in unison, his tail twitching agitatedly. "Seer, you cannot be serious!"

"Valen, Eilistraee's visions have never been wrong," the Seer admonished quietly, "Was she not right in predicting your coming?"

Valen, the tiefling in question, fell quiet, though his icy blue eyes remained on Alain. Trey did not remember him being in the room before. The tiefling had pale skin and fiery red hair, and was dressed in emerald armor. His aura was even stranger looking than the Seer's, it was a rainbow of color, a nimbus of ever-shifting light, of conflicting desires. _It's because he's only half demon. The human side of him keeps his baser impulses barely in check. We have some interesting allies… _He turned his attention back to the Seer.

"What would you have us do?"

"All that there is to do…" the Seer said slowly, seeming to be for the first time unsure of how to proceed, "is to trust in my Goddess, and that means trusting in you. Our fate is in your hands."

"Stop right there," Trey said calmly, holding up a hand in protest. "Don't say things like that. If we're going to help you, then we will need all the help we can get. Don't expect us to swoop in alone and save the day as your prophecies decree, that's not our way. You still command your fate, here."

"No," the Seer said slowly, "you will not be alone. Nathyrra and Valen know much about the Underdark, and they can be of much help in your quest. Nathyrra's information has proven vital to our continued survival, and Valen's command of our allied forces has fended off the Valsharess for longer than any thought possible. If you can find a way to weaken her army, or strike the Valsharess through her allies, then your chances of victory can only improve with them at your side."

"Fine then, it's settled. For now, we could use some rest, and food if you have it. We've been fighting and running without reprieve for far too long." Trey explained.

"Of course," the Seer said with a smile, ushering them outside. There are some rooms we have prepared…" her voice trailed off out of sight and out of hearing as the double doors closed behind them.

Back inside the Temple, Valen scowled at the monks' retreating figures. Nathyrra noticed his expression, and imitated it comically, scrunching up her brow, then laughed. Valen only smiled, but it didn't meet his eyes.

"You saw them in action, Nathyrra. How did those two humans get so far with no weapons of any kind?" Valen asked, voicing the foremost worry of his mind.

"Yes, I've seen them in battle," said Nathyrra, still smiling a little, "and I remember thinking the same thing. The younger one, Alain, is very good at in a fight…he might even be a match for you, Valen.," she joked. Valen smirked and patted the heavy flail hanging at his waist. "The older one, Trey," she continued, "is not as skilled, though he's no pushover, but he's able to use these techniques, using…Ki, is what he called. You would have to see it to believe it, trust me. They fight as one unit, and I think that's how they've survived. When they move…" Nathyrra paused, summoning up a mental image of them, during their last battle, "it's always around each other, aware of the other's movements."

Valen nodded slowly, a little surprised at her response. If _Nathyrra_— a former Red Sister and capable in her own right— was impressed, then surely they must have some skill.

"Well then," Valen murmured to himself as he exited the Temple, "we'll just have to wait and see."

XxXxXxXxXxX

"So?" Alain asked angrily, leaning back against a small stone chair, on the second floor of one of the living quarters. The Seer had taken them to a small stone building about a mile away from the Temple, and said that she would send someone to wake them in the "morning." (Alain was beginning to doubt if he would see natural light for some time.) Their rooms were small, but cozy, and dinner had been some kind of blackened mossy lichen. They had been informed by an enthusiastic servant that drow usually burned such vegetation to a crisp to kill mushroom spores and poisonous fungi that an ambitious rival may have added to liven up their meal. This practice went back generations, and as such, methods had been developed to bring out the food's flavor in spite of how it was cooked. After a first bite, they were astonished to see that it was delicious. The lichen might have looked like something a wagon rolled under, but it tasted _wonderful_, better than any meat they had tried.

Even stranger were their living quarters. Unlike humans, who built their homes upwards, Drow built their homes downward, using a combination of magic and slave labor to tunnel into the earth. As a result, the ground floor (what one saw on the surface) was called the first floor, the second floor (what humans might call a basement) was the second, and so on. The reason, Trey guessed, was that Drow weren't too fond of heights.

"So…what?" Trey replied offhandedly, reclining on the large, circular bed in the room. (He didn't know why all the beds were circular, maybe it reminded the Drow of the womb?) Of course, he knew what Alain meant. He was upset that Trey didn't have the decency to tell him that the Valsharess had set her sights on him. He recalled how the Drow raid leader on the first floor of the Undermountain had ordered his men to take him… but they had mistaken him for Alain. In truth, Trey had kept the information from Alain partly because he didn't want it to be true.

"So what? Why didn't you tell me that you dreamed the Valsharess plotting my death?" Alain cried hotly.

"Why worry you? You would have lost your focus if you were looking in the shadows every five minutes for one of the Valsharess' assassins."

"So the alternative was staying ignorant of a very real threat to my life?"

"Let me ask you this, Alain. Would you have changed any of the decisions you've made up to this point if I had told you straight out? Refused Durnan? Ignored Nathyrra? All for what seemed to be no more than a particularly bad dream?"

Alain leaned backward on the stone chair, balancing the back legs and silently fuming. Like every other argument he had ever begun with his teacher, this one seemed doomed before it had even began. There was no way he could refute his teacher's logic: in many ways, the progression of events would have made changing any decision almost impossible. Waterdeep had penned them in, the beholder had lured him down, and Nathyrra had given her aid. It had all been quite out of his hands.

Still, he couldn't block out the words of a small, mean voice somewhere in his head, voicing all the thoughts he would rather not think on. It said, _You can't be trusted with _sensitive _information like that._ _Consider it cold comfort that they didn't ask you to leave the room before they discussed your pending murder. _

He stamped the voice out ruthlessly, and it went without much fuss, if only for the moment. Trey watched, fascinated, as Alain made a visible effort to regain his composure. "Fine…" Alain sighed, deciding to let the matter drop for the moment. "What is, is. What are we going to do now?"

"Easy question," Trey countered. "We do what we always do, as we always have. You see it, don't you?"

"See what?" Alain asked, puzzled.

"How similar this situation is to any of the ones we've faced on the surface." Trey replied, indicating with a finger towards the ceiling.

Alain shook his head slowly, still confused. "I don't understand, Teacher."

"Listen," Trey instructed, pushing off the bed onto the ground. The stone floor was dusty and worn, the signs of little use, but it served his purpose. He drew a small house in the dirt with his fingers. "This is the village- whichever you want, Drow, human, elf, dwarf, whatever." He drew an arrow in the dirt a few inches to the right of the dirt, and looked at Alain. "This is the threat- again, whatever you want. Human bandits, elven thugs…Drow raiders." Finally he drew two squares in the dirt, below the house. "These squares are you and I. With our help, the villagers are able to fend off the threat. See it now?"

"You forget," Alain interrupted, "This isn't strictly Toril anymore, and our enemies won't fight using the same tactics. We're used to helping a few villagers with pitchforks and clubs, not rebel Drow warriors. We aren't respected, or even tolerated: the Seer is one thing, but I doubt we'll find people falling over themselves to let us help them. And no matter how much we've done, we've still never encountered an _arch-devil _before, Trey. You don't get a title like that for robbing a few pubs!"

"True Alain, we have never met an arch-devil before. Why let that stop us?"

Alain shook his head, his mind empty just when he needed a quick response. Instead, he asked another question. "What's the plan for tomorrow then?"

"I think," Trey mused aloud, "that I will stay here and look at our defenses. If we are going to fend off an army, then we had better know we can use. _You_, on the other hand… you're going to see if we can find any allies against the Valsharess."

"_Me!_" Alain cried, almost a perfect echo of the word he had said earlier. "I'm going on my own, into the _Underdark_, to look for allies to fight a woman who wants me dead above all others? You've got to be joking!"

"No," Trey said, sitting up and wiping the drawings in the dirt away absently, "I'm not, and neither are you. Morale is just as important as equipment. If you are the one "destiny" has chosen, then it would be good to act like it. The camp sees you now as a little human boy, barely old enough to hold a sword." Alain was hard-pressed to hold back an outburst of protests at _that _characterization, "You need to change that image if we are going to survive. And this is the quickest and easiest way."

"Besides, you won't be alone."

"Oh really?" Alain said, flopping back into his strangely comfortable chair. His mind was whirling: spinning not so much out of fear, but at the possibility of proving Trey _wrong._ If Trey truly didn't trust him, as he had thought before, then why was he being given such responsibility?

"No. Valen's going with you," Trey said, laying back down on the bed.

"Wonderful. I'm going to bed, because this must be a nightmare. Send me into the wild with the ally most likely to abandon me. Good night," Alain announced, standing and leaving the room. The door shut hard behind him; too hard. Trey forgave him. He was still trying to cope with the many surprises he had received since his entry into the Underdark, and though he wasn't having a breakdown, it was still a lot to digest. And there was still so much more he did not know!

_No matter what he thinks of Valen, he'll be fine. _Sure, he was worried for Alain, terrified that something might happen to him out there, but Valen had a good heart, despite his appearance. Fighting alongside the commander of the drow army was a good start. Impressing him would be difficult, but if anyone was capable of the feat, it was his student— and changing Valen's mind would go a long way towards gaining the camp's favor.

_Sleep,_ his mind demanded, and like a unnatural spell, an utter blackness fell over his vision, his eyelids growing steadily heavy. He fell asleep, one hand over his eyes, lying on the bed, where Alain would find him the next day.


	10. Strange Signals

_(A/N: Shar is a Drow Goddess. Queen of the Shadows, I believe. Jaluk means male._

Chapter 10

Those who step into the private quarters of the Valsharess are lucky to leave quickly…more so, with all their limbs. Nonetheless, Tenari found himself there only a few days after his retreat from the Undermountain. A dour-faced messenger had informed him that morning to be ready to give his report to the Valsharess by midday. Of course, news normally traveled quickly to her, through her spy network, and it was now common knowledge that the Valsharess' plans for the Undermountain had failed: Halaster had been freed, and would be wary of any other attempts to wrest control from him again.

_Luckily, _Tenari thought to himself as he walked down a dim hallway toward the Valsharess' audience chamber, _I wasn't in charge of that little fiasco. _The offending priestess' head had been placed on a pike when she had returned, and Tenari was glad he had not suffered the same fate. All the same…_Messed up big. I've got about a 50 chance of getting out of this one. _

He stopped before a large ironwood door, its golden handles encrusted with glittering gems. Tenari knocked tentatively, then a little harder, trying to muster up his courage.

"Enter," ordered the Valsharess curtly from behind the door, and Tenari obeyed. He was never one to trust too much in faith, but who knows? If he got out of this one alive, he just might become a cleric or something.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside, lowering his eyes to the floor as he did. The Valsharess was especially strict that all males follow the standard rules (_except those that she chose to bed_, Tenari thought darkly) of male behavior before a superior: eyes on the ground, not speaking until spoken to, and so on. Those who forgot (since no one chose to disobey) were slowly bled to death, courtesy of her "pet devil." Tenari had never seen the Devil, though he had overheard some rumors among the camp, and he sincerely hoped he never would. Looking into the eyes of a Devil was as bad an omen as there ever could be.

So, he kept his center of vision on the stone floor below, and shuffled into the middle of the chamber. A large carving of a spider was engraved into the stone, and Tenari kneeled down in the middle of the arachnid, dutifully playing his part. If the Valsharess was going to kill him, then it was already decided. He only hoped he would be able to die well.

The Valsharess was content to let Tenari kneel in silence, watching for any signs of nervousness. Finally, when she felt that the silence had gone on long enough, she said, "Look up, Tenari. Make your report, and quickly."

Tenari craned his neck upwards, towards the Valsharess atop her throne and feeling all too conscious of the smirking faces of her Red Sisters, all around him. The Valsharess was beautiful, but no story-book beauty that shone through to those who looked for it. The Valsharess' looks and actions demanded attention, and her beauty was cruel. Her skin was smooth, black as night, with the angular features that Drow artisans adore (not that there were many such artisans). She was a lover, Tenari guessed, who would make her mate beg before receiving her. She was cunning as well, of course, how else could she have ensnared such an unwilling and powerful slave: Mephistopheles, Lord of the 8th level of the Nine Hells of Baator?

The Devil in question was chained with cords of magical energy to the wall behind her. The former Duke was seven foot tall with burning crimson eyes, clothed in a rough "vest" the Valsharess had given him, to humble him. Two horns jutted from his head, and there was a small smile on his lips despite his imprisonment, as though he knew a secret no one else did. Even captured, there was an unmistakable aura about him, malice and rage just kept in check. Tenari liked Mephistopheles just where he was; as much power as the Valsharess held over him, he believed that this devil would hold still more.

He realized he had been staring. As if to confirm that fact, the Valsharess nodded, and a whip cracked from behind him, striking him squarely in the small of his back. He jumped, but didn't dare scream; screaming would be his death-toll.

"Your report!" the Valsharess cried, and Tenari bit back another scream, as waves of pain radiated outward from his bruise. He sat up, painfully, and began in a tight, controlled voice.

"Great Valsharess, our raiding party on the Yawning Portal Inn was a success. An ally of ours lured five of the Inn's strongest warriors into the Undermountain. They charged into an ambush, and were scattered about the dungeon." (This was not strictly true; he had no idea who was the strongest in the Inn. The trick was to know to how much truth to mix with fiction.)

The Valsharess fixed him with a steely glare, which Tenari held. Perhaps it was his self-preservation that kept the lie out of his eyes, but his heart plummeted when the Valsharess coolly asked, "Mephistopheles, is this fool lying to me?"

His eyes flicked towards the devil for a fraction of a second, a sign the Valsharess did not miss. His hands clenched, balling into fists, but he kept his head high. This was it. There would be no escape for him, but still he wondered: could this truly be the end, the clearing at the end of the path for him? Had Death, on his Pale Horse, caught him at last?

"No, Great Valsharess." Mephistopheles answered, and again, Tenari glanced at him, this time out of relief, not fear. Mephistopheles gave him the tiniest of winks, one red eyes eclipsing shut for a split-second, then it was gone, as the Valsharess turned on her throne to look at him open-mouthed. Everyone in the room had seen through his lie, but the Devil had validated him just the same. Believe it or not, he owed Mephistopheles one. The question was: how much was that favor?

He continued, trying to ignore the suspicious looks shot at him from around the room. "Unfortunately, the bald-headed monk you wanted captured escaped from us on the first level. And, well, the Undermountain is unpredictable. We pursued him, but he must have ended up on a different level."

"He shouldn't have escaped at all!" the Valsharess exclaimed, "And what's more!"- she paused, as if mentally replaying his words. "Wait a moment. Bald headed?"

"Yes…" he replied slowly, but already that sinking feeling was coming back, stronger than ever.

"You fool!" she bellowed, and almost right away, another whip lashed out, this time connecting with his ribs. He buckled, biting his lips in pain, and tasting blood. The whips were barbed, and enchanted so that each lash cut deep, despite his armor. His side began to pulse almost immediately. "The one I want dead is not dead; he has a full head of hair! Young! Scar on his face!"

"Great Valsharess, I,-" Tenari stammered, his side beginning to leak blood, "I was not told this! My orders were to kill the monk, and I saw only one monk!" _The monk at the top of the hill…was that Baldy's student? Must be… _

"Enough of your excuses," the Valsharess said curtly, regaining her composure, which could only spell his doom. She nodded to someone behind him, and Tenari gritted his teeth, bracing for the killing blow. He even _hoped _the killing blow would come, instead of being slowly tortured to death.

"Wait a moment, Great Valsharess," said Mephistopheles, and the Red Sister behind Tenari hesitated, the whip held in her cocked arm frozen. The Valsharess (for her true name had been forgotten, both for those under her and even to herself) fired an angry glare at the Devil behind her. _No one _ever dared to interrupt her in anything. If she allowed her prisoner that power, what kind of message would that send? Nonetheless…

"Yes, O Dread Mephistopheles?" she asked, her voice dripping with fake sweetness and barely concealing her anger.

"I was wondering," Mephistopheles continued, enjoying himself, "if there might not be a better way to handle this…situation?"

"Oh?" the Valsharess replied, her hand beginning to creep towards the whip hanging at her belt. "What do you suggest?"

"Allow him to make up for his mistake. He's as good as dead anyhow, why not let him die in your service?" Mephistopheles proposed. "He cannot, of course, defeat the monk…But he may be able to wound him, poison him, or mark him for other assassins of your choosing. And, if, by some freak chance, he does succeed, then all the better. The threat to your dominion over the Underdark is gone, and the Drow captain finds redemption."

"Hmmm…" the Valsharess mused, looking down at Tenari, who was still kneeling on the floor before her. "Why not? I care not how you die. Since you must perish, why not do it serving me? And, should you succeed Tenari," the Valsharess promised, "then this mistake will be forgotten, and I will promote you to my major. But if you try to escape from me, and abandon this task, then I promise a lifetime of suffering. I will have Mephistopheles cut you in dozen different places, and let you bleed to death, just long enough for you to beg my pardon."

" Y-yes Valsharess," Tenari stammered, though he barely heard her. He was hardly able to believe his luck. _What is this demon's plan? _Tenari wondered. _That's twice he's saved me._

_**Yes**, _"said" an alien voice in his head. _**And you wondered what the price was, didn't you? Simple**. _

Tenari almost screamed aloud in his shock. Someone had invaded his mind! He eyes flicked wildly about the room, until they came to rest on Mephistopheles, who was staring steadily at him.

"Out of my sight, _jaluk_!" the Valharess ordered, and Tenari stood on legs that felt like jelly. As he staggered out of the room, his thoughts a blur in shock and pain, the voice spoke again. It was a cruel voice, and it resounded in his head, blotting out all other thoughts. **_Kill the bald-headed monk. Leave the young one._**

Could he communicate using his thoughts? He knew almost nothing about telepathy, but it was worth a shot. He "aimed" his thoughts at Mephistopheles: _But the Valsharess said-_

**_I know what she said! _**the voice thundered angrily, and Tenari winced in pain. Receiving his thoughts were much harder than sending him, and he guessed it was because his brain was not meant for such telepathy. **_But you will not obey. Kill the old monk, the one named Trey, and all debts are repaid. _**

The door slammed behind him, and the voice, or its presence, or whatever, disappeared with it. He had escaped with his life, only to be set on another path. _Another chance for revenge. Last time pays for all. _

Trey awoke with a start, jerking up into a sitting position. Dream images drifted hazily through his mind, making less and less sense, even as he scratched his head. He couldn't remember exactly what he had dreamt about, only that it concerned Lith My'athar's defenses. He had seen the outer wall blown into pieces by a great light. Obviously not a good omen. He was genuinely disturbed, because that dream might be prophetic, as his one before, and he resolved to ask the Seer about it.

"I saw the camp walls being destroyed…" he said aloud, slowly, trying to articulate dream-images. As usual, the lucidity and fluidness that dreams had during sleep seemed to break down under reality's harsh light. "I saw the Relic… the Seer, and the Valsharess, and.." He ran a hand across his pate. There was so much more to the dream, but already it was fading, just dream-smoke in the light of day. How long does a prophetic dream (if that's what it was) stay in your memory?

_That's the consequences for messing in with this. Get involved with a Goddess, and this is what you get, _he thought, as he speedily got dressed and left his room. Alain's door was locked, and he guessed he had already left. This was good. Alain had shown some discomfort with his task last night, but when it came to business, he was always there to help. _Since he's doing his job…_

"Better get started on mine," Trey said aloud, as he stepped out of the door and into the city.

"I hate this job," Alain muttered, scowling darkly into the glassy water a few feet below him. He closed his eyes, gripping the ship's railing quite tightly, and tried to imagine wide, grassy plains and rolling hills, dotted with flowers over the landscape.

"Seasick?" Valen asked, hiding the amusement in his voice but not quite his eyes.

"River-sick," Alain replied gloomily, leaning his chin in his cupped hands.

The two had left earlier that morning, before most of the city was awake. Valen had talked of islands out in the Underdark, along the Dark River, and of one isle in particular, which was home to a group of sentient golems. Alain, already fascinated by the idea of a river, (_an underground river, how many people get to see that?) _was further intrigued by the idea of golems? It was strange, of this adventure seemed to shadow the last. He still bore the scars of his encounter with the ten fallen golems of Undrentide.

"Golems are difficult opponents," Valen had said earlier, noting Alain's expression. "It will be even tougher for you, since you seem to have no weapons."

"Don't you worry about that," Alain had replied, but Valen couldn't help it. Surely this boy couldn't be so powerful as to break golems with his bare hands, could he? There was more than stone to shatter, there was also the magic binding them together. Still… he must be that confident for a reason.

Cavallas, the one (and only) inhabitant of Lith My'athar to own a boat, was happy to take them out to the island. He demanded no price, which was strange, but what was even more unsettling was the (man?woman?) himselfself. Alain could sense his aura, so Cavallas was at least alive. But, no one had any idea what race Cavallas was, or even where he came from. He called himself the "master of the Dark River", perhaps he was spawned from the River itself? Valen would only shake his head and say no more. In truth, he knew no more than Alain.

The boat, a small sturdy vessel made from some unknown material (it looked like wood, but how could _that _be?) cut easily through the ebony waters. Bats shrieked as they passed, and at one point, a large, dark grey fish leapt out from the currents. It seemed to hang in the air for one full second, and Alain saw that the fish was blind, and a large mouth lined with teeth. Then the fish disappeared back into the water, leaving him to wonder if he had really saw what he thought he saw.

His stomach lurched painfully, and his grip on the ship railing tightened.

"Try not to vomit," Valen remarked dryly, "It riles up the fish."

Alain groaned loudly, leaning over the side. "A half-hour into things, and we're off to a great start."

"So this is Golem Island," Alain said, walking toward the ruins of what could only be the Golem's home. He could almost smell the age in the wind, it was a musty scent of aged parchment and stale air.

"Look…" Valen said, resigning himself to trying to talk some sense into Alain. "I'll tell you again: Golems are not to be trifled with. They know no mercy, or compassion, or feeling of any kind. If you let your guard down, they'll kill you, and quick." _Even I won't be able to stop them in time. But if he's our savior… he won't need too much help, will he?_

"Uh-huh," Alain replied, barely listening as he pushed the door of the ruins open, listening for any tell-tale signs of a trap. "Keep your voice low, Valen. I'd like to avoid too many traps today."

Valen gritted his teeth as he followed the monk down the steps into the ruins, forcing away his anger with an effort. Alain had dismissed his warning completely. Was it out of over-confidence, or was their dislike for each other mutual?

The first room of the ruins must have been used as a kind of waiting area in the past, a room where any friends of the Maker could sit and relax while waiting. Now the once-comfortable chairs and benches were covered in grime. Several were broken, and the reason for the damage wasn't too far away: Duergar corpses littered the floor, twisted into new and interesting shapes, each face an essay in horror.

"Damn…" Alain muttered, as he stepped over the body of one such unlucky Duergar. The crossbow in his hands was broken, and his chest had a hole the size of a cannonball punched through it.

_See what I mean now? _Valen thought, and said aloud, "No resurrection spell can put him together again. Take my meaning?"

Alain said nothing, instead pressing against one of the stone walls, just near the first hallway. Valen loosened his heavy flail from his belt and followed suit, ears straining for any sounds of the monster golem that had left behind the carnage they saw. Instead of rumbling footsteps, the two heard lighter, crunching feet. Alain whipped around the corner, Valen right behind him, expecting some new terror… but what they saw was quite the opposite. They saw a flesh golem, pieced together from the skin of other creatures, preferably trolls or ogres. But as most flesh golems are around seven feet tall, this golem was three feet tall, a midget among giants, small even for a Halfling. The golem was stomping down the corridor, towards the lifeless steel of another, larger iron golem when they had leapt from their hiding place. The golem shrieked, a high, warbling cry quite unlike what they had expected, and turned to run down the hall away from them. Valen recovered from his shock and began to give chase, but Alain was quicker, flicking three shurikens into the air the way a card-shark might deal a new hand. The projectiles burst into flame as they flew, and struck home in the golem's spine. But before they could see the effect of the attack, the tiny golem was gone. Vanished into thin air. A small pop sound accompanied it; the sound of air filling the space where the golem had once stood.

"…What was that?" Alain asked, picking up his shurikens from the floor. He inspected them, and showed Valen the bits of golem flesh still splashed along their points.

"I'm not sure. Not a fighting golem, that's for sure." Valen replied. "A scout perhaps?"

"Maybe. We should keep moving. I didn't like the sound of that-" Alain began, when a closer crunching sound interrupted him. A much LARGER sound.

They turned around as one, not knowing what to expect. The iron golem that the flesh golem had been approaching was climbing to its feet. It was twelve feet tall, a monster of creaking hinges and groaning bolts. Its small, head was rotating woodenly on its hinge, revealing a featureless face of pale metal to them. It "looked" from side to side,(though it had no eyes) and seemed to stop on them. Alain was reminded by this gesture of a curious bird which might cock its head to one side while observing some oddity. The two warriors froze, unsure if they had been spotted or not. The golem took a step forward, groaning as it did, and pointed one large, club-like arm at them.

"**Identify!" **the golem blared, though they saw no opening of any kind where such a loud sound could issue. Alain shot Valen a quick, dumb-founded look, before stepping forward hesitantly.

"We are…friends of your… creator," Alain replied, his voice a pale whisper compared to the golem. Valen tensed, expecting the worse. If the ruse failed, the golem would certainly attack, or even worse, call for help. He wanted to be able to break the machine before it could do either.

Unseen gears and bolts clicked inside the golem for almost a minute. Finally, the golem said "**State names. Warning! Failure to comply will result in extreme measures!"**

Alain quickly shot back, "I am Magnus Firebuckle. This," he said, gesturing to Valen behind him, "is Rufus VII, Duke of Oldtree." Valen groaned aloud, wishing he could break the boy instead of the golem. What was he thinking, joking around like that?

More clicks and whirs from inside the golem. Valen's eyes were locked on the automaton's legs. Two steps were all it would take for him to reach the golem, and one hard swing should be able to remove the golem's extremities. He hoped. Alain, on the other hand, was almost relaxed.

There was a short pause, and then, "**Cleared: Magnus. Cleared: Rufus. Welcome to the home of Alsigard, the Maker. Proceed to the lower levels, down the hall to your left. **The golem's voice to echo strangely, reverberating down the hallways, until it seemed all around them. When the echoes finally died away, the golem turned awkwardly, grinding a Duergar body into the floor in the process, and stomped down another hallway. Valen turned to look at Alain, his icy blue eyes widened.

"Magnus Firebuckle!" he said incredulously, shaking his head. "I cannot believe that worked."

"Yeah, that was definitely taking a risk, huh?" Alain replied, exhaling for what seemed like the first time in three minutes.

"Yes. And what was the reason for it?"

"Well, I figured that these golems are so old, whatever function they might have served is probably a little rusty. Plus, we're also the first non-Duergar they have seen in a while," Alain said, jerking his head towards the flattened corpse.

"Well… All the same, I don't think any of these golems will help us fight the Valsharess," Valen said, stepping over the body of a stone golem as they walked down the left hallway.

"Which means, that they won't be helping her, either. So then, I guess we go in deeper."

"Yes," Valen answered. "That's what we'll do. And if golems are all we find, I'll be surprised."

They walked in silence for a bit, each lost in their own thoughts. They heard the sounds of phantom footsteps down other hallways, and twice they passed a golem in an adjacent hallway, but were not attacked. Alain guessed that when the iron golem had "cleared" them, it had put them temporarily on a "guest list" of sorts on the first floor.

"But I don't know how long it will last, or if it applies to every other golem here," Alain warned. "So be on your guard."

Valen found it extremely ironic that Alain's warning came right after he had done something so abysmally stupid, but decided not to comment. Instead, he followed a different venue, "I want to know: what is it that makes you so special?"

"Wish I knew," Alain joked.

Valen didn't even crack a smile. Instead, he grew even more stern, his eyes boring into him. "It's no joking matter. The Seer is entrusting our fate into your hands. This entire camp's fate, and I will _not_ see them destroyed for nothing."

Alain frowned, his brow furrowing. The truth was, he really _didn't _know why the Seer had made such a fuss over him. If anyone was going to save the camp, it would be Trey, who was his superior in nearly all respects. The fact that Trey agreed with the Seer confused him even more. But he couldn't tell Valen all _that. _So he stalled.

"What was _your _role in all this, anyway?" Alain asked, honestly interested.

_Was? _Valen thought. _Am I to be cast out so quickly?_ "I am a soldier, just a warrior. I doubt you'll find one better."

"Come on, give. Surely you had a bigger part than that. Otherwise, you wouldn't care as much," Alain said softly.

"I've seen my share of battle, that's all. What the Seer didn't tell you is that this is essentially our last stand. Our supplies can't last forever, and the Valsharess' army is three times our size."

"Wow," Alain said, stunned. "I didn't know things were so bad."

"Which is why," Valen pressed, "that it's so important that you understand the weight on your shoulders. What makes you so capable of this?"

"Yes," Alain said, beginning to understand Valen's motives, "why should I be so important, when you've been here for so long?"

Valen remained silent, though Alain had just spoken the unsaid question in his heart.

"There's no reason," Alain said at last. "None at all. So why don't you help me?"

Again, Valen was quiet, but for a different reason: shock. Out of all the responses he predicted, he did not expect that one.

"Well, why not?" Alain asked, as if Valen refused. "You said it yourself. You've been here long enough, and I haven't. If you care so much about the Seer's safety, then prove it."

Valen gritted his teeth. How could he question his dedication for the Seer? The Seer was his salvation! Then again, _he _didn't know that… "I don't need to prove it. And I already planned on helping you."

"Great. Then it's settled," Alain said brightly, and walked down the steps to the lower level. _Humans. There's a reason why no one comes to this plane. _Valen thought, as he followed him.

The lower level of the Maker's dungeon was even darker than the first. There were less Duergar bodies here, and more golem corpses. Valen kneeled down, taking a closer look at one of the bodies.

"See somebody you know?" Alain said with a straight face.

"This is a mythril golem," Valen commented, ignoring Alain. He shifted his weight, leaning to his left. "And here is a flesh golem."

Alain bent down, taking a closer look, his humor forgotten. He pointed to the flesh golem, which was missing an arm. "What do you think did this?" There was a flash of bone showing beneath the golem's discolored skin. Whatever had killed this golem (if golems had "lives" to take) had been immensely strong.

"The same thing that did this," Valen said grimly, his lips pressed into a thin line. Alain followed his finger to a decapitated mythril golem leaning against the far wall. "This behind the work of golems," he continued. "This is slaughter, killing for the sake of killing."

"Well," Alain said, standing and wiping some grime of his shirt. "We better make sure that whoever did this can't be used against us, right?"

"You can't be serious!" Valen cried. "You don't want to hunt-"

"Shh!" Alain interrupted, putting a finger to his lips. "I hear something."

From a little farther down the corridor, they could hear voices. The two crept down the hallway, just enough so that they could make out what was being said, but not the speakers.

This is what they heard:

A deeper voice: "Peace, friends, peace! Come now? Did we not once call each other brother?"

A higher voice, yet somehow menacing: "That time can return, _brother,_ as long as you renounce that fool Ferron and return with us. Then, perhaps, that time can return.

Deep voice, after a long pause: "I will not, my brother. The Maker is long gone, he will not return. Ferron can give us all our freedom, even Aghaaz."

High voice, enraged: "You will all pay for your lack of faith when he returns! He _will, _he _must!_ Then we will be uplifted above all others, while you are cast aside, as mere trifles!"

Deep voice: "That will not happen, because we will be long gone. Please brother, join with us; we need the Power Source if we are to move on. Aghaaz is wrong."

High voice: "Aghaaz is right, and _he_ would not give you a second chance. Neither will I!"

The higher voice and his compatriots voiced a war cry, and the sounds of battle echoed down the hallway. Valen, ever the warrior, noticed there were no sounds of the clash of steel or ring of swords, but flat, thudding sounds. Alain jumped to his feet, ready to intervene, but Valen held him back.

"Wait," he ordered, and Alain ceased his struggling. The thudding sounds ended quickly after it had begun. One side outnumbered the other, Valen guessed.

High voice: "Serves you right, unbelievers!"

Valen nodded to Alain, and the two of them stopped from out of the relative safety of the hallway into the open. The speaker was a tall, particularly ugly flesh golem. The golem had either been one of less perfect examples of craftsmanship from the Maker's workshop, or time had not been kind. The golem's face was a fading yellowish-brown, the color of dirty parchment. His eyes were two different colors, green and blue, and the blue was higher up on his face. His nose crooked, jutting out too far to the left, and, at the moment, there was a wild, self-righteous look in his eyes that seemed strangely familiar. It took Alain a few moments to place it: it was the look of a self-righteous "prophet" preaching his word. He was standing over the corpse of three mythril golems, and as they entered, he spat on one of the bodies, leaving a large reddish trail down their back.

"Intruders!" the prophet screeched, and three of the flesh golems shambled forward to attack. The prophet and another golem fled down a hallway to the right. Alain rushed forward to engage the golems, Valen a little behind him. He was curious, having heard so much about the monk way of combat. Also, if this was to be their savior, surely there was to be a test of strength, wasn't there.

Alain proved the stories true. All three of the golems attacked at once, clumsy as they were, flanking the boy. Alain parried all three of their attacks, ducking a swinging fist from the first, blocking a hard right from the second, and dodging a lumbering charge from the third. They _were_ golems, which meant that they were hardy, but Alain had Ki on his side, and it was at that moment Valen stepped in.

Valen stuck a foot out, tripping the charging golem which had missed Alain (though it hurt his foot to do so), and swung hard at it's head, an overhand swing which ended its existence. Alain slipped behind another golem, dodging yet another slow punch, and kicked low, knocking the golem's legs out from under him. The golem fell to its feet, sprawled out on the floor. Alain swung down hard, and the flesh golem's head burst easily beneath his fist, like a rotting fruit. There was no time to gag though, as the last golem kicked at his ribs. He rolled to the side, kneeling down on one leg, and swung in one quick chop to its kneecap. He felt the bone snap underneath his hand, thinking _That can't be just my Ki… these golems are so old, I guess they break easy. _Valen finished the golem off, bashing its head in with a sure swing from his flail.

Alain stood, wiping his fist clean of golem goo with an expression of disgust. Usually, he was loathe to kill any sentient being, but these golems were not strictly alive, and he knew of no other way to stop them.

"Come on. Let's follow them," Valen said, and then ran down the left corridor without waiting for a response. Alain followed closely behind, his neck hairs prickling. They were being watched.

"So that was my dream, Seer. Do you have any ideas what it could mean?" Trey asked. He was inside the former temple of Lloth, which seemed empty. Trey had no doubt, however, that there had to be some kind of bodyguards, hidden in the shadows. The Seer was basically defenseless after all, and there were a _lot _of shadows.

"Is this a recurring dream, Trey, or was this your first time?" the Seer questioned, drumming her fingers in unison on the table. They were sitting in one of the side rooms of the Temple, at Trey's request. It wouldn't be good if news leaked out that a supposed "hero" was getting the jitters over strange dreams. He was plenty disliked already, not a single Drow had looked at him during his walk through the city.

"This was the first time."

"Any symbols you didn't understand?"

"..No." This wasn't strictly true. Trey had seen the Relic of the Reaper being held by a scaly hand, but that was too complicated. If he told the Seer, she would ask where he had found such a thing, and he couldn't answer that. He honestly didn't know.

"I would say ignore it," the Seer began slowly, "because you have no history for prophecy of any kind, correct." When Trey nodded, she continued, "but, you did accurately describe the outer wall without ever seeing it with your own eyes. Perhaps sending you that dream of the Valsharess has given you some short-term version of prophecy. My visions are sent by my goddess, yours…I know not."

"Hmmm.." Trey grunted, thinking hard. Had he ever met someone with the power and the motives for warning him in his dreams? He thought not. If you met people with those kinds of skills, you tended to remember them.

"Have you looked about the camp yet?" the Seer asked, changing the subject.

"Oh, yes." Trey replied, snapping out of his reverie. "I spoke with Commander Imloth and the House Mae'vir sergeant, along with Osyrr, the gate guard. Why are your men being trained in two different places? Isn't that a little inefficient?" Trey guessed that the two factions of Drow, Eilistraee followers and those with House Mae'vir, didn't play together too well. There were too many differences between them for the soldiers to train together. Still, Trey knew one thing could unite them, if only for a short while: the shadow of hanging doom.

"Matron Myrune of House Mae'vir refuses to have any more to do with us than she needs. She ruled one of the Great House of Menzoberranzen. Now she plays host to a rag-tag group of the Resistance. It must be horrible for her," the Seer sighed, though there was a hint of a smile on her lips.

"Can she be trusted?" Trey asked. The main factor that had allowed the Drow to survive, _thrive_ in the Underdark was their keen sense of self-preservation (also called cowardice, betrayal, and back-stabbing in other circles). "If the Valsharess could make her a deal, would she take it?"

"Oh, I doubt it," the Seer said, though she sounded a little doubtful. "House Mae'vir was one of the first in Menzoberranzen to challenge the Valsharess, and one of the first to fall. The Valsharess would never attempt to make a deal, and Mae'vir would never expect. One of the few times hubris works in our favor."

"It seems logical, but… I think I'll pay her a visit," said Trey slowly, recalling the Mae'vir compound in his mind. It was a large, spire-like building with two grim-faced guards standing watch. They had refused him entry before he had even asked, and it seemed a little suspicious for the Matron Myrune to have little to do with matters of her own survival.

"Drow politics is a dangerous machine," the Seer warned. "Myrune has one daughter left, an ambitious Drow named Zesyrr. One of them may too true to pull you into a power struggle, to assassinate the other. You and Alain _are_ the only non-drow here, besides Valen. They will try to tempt you-"

"Don't worry," Trey said abruptly, standing up. "Before victory comes temptation. But I am a monk; not gold, nor fame, nor lust will sway me. Trust my judgment in this, Seer. I will do what I can."

"Let the Lady Eilistraee watch you in your travels," the Seer said, bowing before him. "Farewell."

_A/N: I didn't like how Mephistopheles is portrayed in the game: an unwilling prisoner whose manipulating is not seen until the very end. So, excuse me if you didn't like my taking liberties with his characters. Still the basic Meph, cold and calculating, the snake behind the throne._

_My apologies if area transitions are a bit unclear. I haven't figured out how best show these. I usually place equal signs as markers in my own work, but it doesn't show on fanfiction. Any ideas?_

_Til next time._


	11. Demons

_Apologies for taking so long to update. True, a month isn't exactly long,but it felt longer to me. Got sick a few days after last chapter was posted, and that kind of slowed me down a little, even after I recovered.Ok. Wasted enough time with excuses. Enjoy._

Chapter 11

The Mae'vir ancestral public house was shabby, a sad reminder of former glories. Many of the trinkets and baubles, which had existed within the family for generations, had been sold hastily, in a last bid to buy more soldiers. Trey took in the dilapidated building neutrally, his eyes skimming over the randomly dumped crates (and Drow) without a comment. _Still unpacking, I guess._

It wasn't hard to discover who was the authority in the room. Every Drow in the room seemed to be doing something: there were warriors in the west rooms, archers in the east rooms, and scholars pouring over books continuously to the south. All working except for one female in the middle of the room, just standing there with a rather bored expression on her face. _Must be Zesyrr._

A few Drow threw him suspicious looks as he approached the female. Others simply ignored him, too engrossed in their own work. And what work was more important than saving your own life?

"What do you want?" Zesyrr said rudely, before he had even opened up his mouth. Obviously she had noticed him as soon as he stepped in, and feigned boredom. _I wonder how many arrows would come my way if I said I was from Myrune?_ Trey wondered ruefully. 10? 15?

"Just wanted to ask a few questions," Trey replied.

"Forget it. I have no time for some greybeard human," Zesyrr said curtly, then turned her back on him.

_Greybeard? _Trey thought indignantly. _I don't even **have **a beard.. _"It's about your mother."

Zesyrr stiffened, then turned to him slowly, her eyes narrowed. "What about her?"

Trey was silent for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "I've noticed that House Mae'vir trains her troops separately from those of the Seer. I've also noticed that your mother is currently not seeing visitors."

Zesyrr sighed, speaking as if addressing a very small child who does not know the ways of the world yet. "She refuses to work with those Eilistraee scum more than she needs to. And she is closed to all visitors…because of me. It is the ambition of every daughter to succeed a Matron mother, whether by means fair…or foul. Do you understand now?" she said mockingly, her dark eyes fixed upon him.

Trey chose not to rise to her bait, only nodding. There was more for her to say.

"Of course, that is the reason I am locked away here," Zesyrr continued dismally. "Unless," she brightened, "you could help me?"

"Go on," Trey said, though he already knew what was coming.

"I have all the support I need to take the throne, so to speak." Zesyrr said, watching him very carefully. "All I lack is the means."

"So you wish for me to…what, kill her?" Trey asked slowly, inwardly shocked. It was hard to believe how matter of fact Zesyrr sounded plotting the upheaval of her mother.

"Yes. Just my mother and her bodyguard, Tebimar. My people will be waiting."

His heart rejected the plan on principle; the idea of killing one's mother for personal gain was filthy. But, if Myrune planned to betray them anyhow, it was likely that she would have to die anyhow. "I need to make sure of her intentions before I do anything. I'll go speak to her myself."

The young female laughed scornfully, amused at his "naiveté." "Do you doubt that my mother wouldn't turn you over in an instant if it meant a chance to regain her former glory? Do not count on her to be in your corner, or you're in for a surprise! But no matter, do what you will. Here," she twisted a small, silver ring off of her ring finger and pressed it into his palm. The ring had a small set of runes inscribed along the inside of the ring. "This will allow you entrance. The guards won't let you inside without seeing that first."

"Thank you," he said, pocketing the ring.

"Taking care of my mother will be all the thanks I need," she answered. Trey nodded noncommittally and took his leave.

The walk from the Mae'vir public house to Myrune's estate was a short one, but seemed very long in his mind. It did not take him long at all to decide that he was not going to kill Myrune and her bodyguard, even if she admitted to his face, that she would betray him. It wasn't in him to kill in cold blood. If Myrune _was _guilty, he would incapacitate her and take her to the Seer, perhaps she could think of something. If she was not, then…he would thank her for her time and leave as quick as he could. He remembered the Seer's advice about politics, and he wanted as little to do with it as he could.

The guards in front of Myrune's estate glared at him stonily, but made no move to stop him as he approached. He reached into his pocket, noting with some alarm that both guards had stiffened when he did, expecting an attack, and took out Zesyrr's ring. One of the guards started, obviously surprised, and snatched the ring from his palm quickly, as if afraid that it would be seen.

"That's!-" the Drow commando breathed, turning the ring over in his hand. His shocked expression quickly melted into one of suspicion, and he glanced up at Trey keenly. "Zesyrr is ready to move so soon, but.." his words trailed off. A flash of insight struck him: the Drow thought that Zesyrr had chosen Trey as her assassin, but from his looks, the odds of success must not be high. If the assassination attempt failed, then the commando would almost certainly die for allowing Trey inside. _But why you? is what he wanted to say. _Trey thought.

The soldier seemed to remember himself, shaking away his doubts like water off of a dog's back. "Matron Myrune is inside, on the second floor," he said, his words clipped. "Not all inside are loyal to her, but be prepared to face some resistance." He pulled a small, silver key from out of his pocket and unlocked the front door, then went back to his post. Trey entered the building, a little unnerved. The first room was a large antechamber, ornately decorated. Pictures of Drow women dotted the far walls like spots, each Drow seeming both cruel and regal at the same time. Each one, Trey guessed, had most likely assassinated their predecessor. _Not at _all _like your typical family tree, _he thought as he walked towards the double doors at the far end of the hall. _More like a list of bounties._Yes, it was easy to imagine an ambitious Drow daughter killing her mother and taking her position, then hanging a picture of the deceased in their memory.

_I'll never understand these people, _he thought ruefully, and then the doors at the end of the hall opened. A Drow woman, wearing a short, sweeping dark-blue dress entered, an older (it was hard to tell, as Drow aged like Elves did: very slowly) male, followed by two Drow soldiers. The woman was deep in conversation with the former, while the two soldiers followed a few feet behind, scowling and trying to look useful. Trey concentrated, triggering the inner _click_, and suddenly the world was awash with color. The drab grays and blacks of the building seemed to darken before his eyes, fading into the background. The four Drow who had entered were now surrounded in a prism of color from head to toe. Trey was only interested in the Matron's aura, and the other Drow were forgotten in his scrutiny. Myrune's aura was a shade of dark blue, interspersed with dots of green and a pale red. A complicated character, alright. She was used to fame, fortune, and luxury; now she was forced to rely upon the dregs of her society. How had that affected her?

The matron glared at him, her aura changing to a shifting membrane of red and yellow, and he realized he had been staring. She pointedly turned her back on him, saying loudly to the male she had been talking to, "Who is that male, Tebimar? Why was he allowed in, when I explicitly told you I wanted no visitors?"

"I do not know, Matron Mother," Tebimar said coolly. "Allow me to find out." Trey didn't give him the chance. If his ploy was to happen at all, then it relied on initiative and self-confidence. Before Tebimar could turn in his direction, Trey was already there.

"Sorry for the intrusion, Myrune," Trey said, "but I come with an urgent message."

Myrune stared at him. Drow males rarely made the mistake of addressing a Matron Mother before being spoken to. The idea of a human male, _with a message,_ speaking to her was laughable. It took her a moment to find her voice, but when she spoke, she sounded haughty as ever, "Who would send a human male to find me? What joke is this?"

"No joke at all, Myrune," Trey said coolly. His mind was working a mile a minute. He would have to talk very fast, and very big, if he was to overcome Myrune's initial distrust of him. "I have come from the Valsharess."

The statement provoked exactly the reaction he hoped for: silence.

"I know what you're thinking: why would the Valsharess use a human male? Why is a human even _here_?" Trey continued. "I am the one your Seer has predicted. But she made a mistake: I come as no savior, but as a destroyer."

"I don't believe you," Myrune said bluntly.

"Don't, then," Trey replied. "When this camp is destroyed, wiped out in the snap of a finger by her pet demon, I'm sure your followers will remember your response. But will they be so forgiving when they know you were offered a chance at survival?"

More silence. If Myrune _truly_ didn't believe him, he would have been thrown out already. But belief wasn't enough. He needed to know: would she betray the Seer if given the opportunity? Or was this imitation unfair, unrealistic.

_No time for that now. The charade goes on. _"Your house was one of the first to fall to the Valsharess. It was foolish to resist then, but it will save you now. The Valsharess wants the Seer dead very badly. If you help her in this, and swear loyalty to her, you will be restored to your former glory, and more."

"She can…she would do this?" Myrune whispered. Trey recognized the look in her eyes. They were the eyes of a longtime loser who has finally won the Big Score; the eyes of a beggar who has gone fishing for copper and has found gold.

"Of course," Trey said. "The Valsharess has greater ambitions: she wants to rule the surface. Who will govern the Underdark in her stead? Who knows..?" Purposely letting his sentence trail off, allowing her to imagine the possibilities… Trey felt sick to his stomach. He had tricked Myrune so thoroughly that it was all to easy to imagine himself recruiting Drow for the Valsharess. He seemed to have a natural flair for it.

"What do I need to do!" Myrune demanded, her hands balling tightly into fists. "Whatever she wants, I can do!"

Trey smiled sadly. "Fooled you."

Myrune stared at him for a good three seconds. Then bewilderment shifted to rage. "You… you!" she sputtered, unable to speak.

Trey nodded slowly, as if expecting that response. _Now what will she do? Attack or retreat? Have me executed, or just thrown out? _Despite the proof he had just seen of her treachery, he had no plans of killing her, or capturing her. It was depressing to witness the kind of allies that the Drow partnered with; people who would sell anyone out if given the right offer. Why had the idea of loyalty died here, in one of the most dangerous places in all of Toril?

"So this was all a joke then? None of it was true at all?" Myrune asked quietly, though her effort at maintaining calm was betrayed by her shaking fists.

"I just gave you a scenario, and let your mind do the rest," Trey replied. "I am with the Seer, though I'm hardly a savior. Your daughter told me you were not to be trusted, now I can see she was right."

Myrune's eyes narrowed, as she spat her daughter's name like a curse, "Zesyrr. I should have known. And you must be here to kill me, after all." Tebimar, along with the Drow behind him, instantly moved into a protective position around her, but Trey didn't move.

"No, though she tried to hire me. I just came here for the truth. Know that if you should try to betray us near the end, I will be in a position to stop you." Trey turned his back on her to leave.

Myrune's fury boiled over at this point. There was no hope of defeating or escaping the Valsharess; her army was far too large. Her only chance of survival had relied on her betrayal, and now this human had taken it away in one fell swoop. Surely fate was not to be so cruel as to have House Mae'vir, one of the High Houses of Menzoberranzen, to meet its end clinging at the shirttail of a group of filthy outcasts?

_I can't allow it_, she thought furiously. _There's still some hope here… but if this jaluk ruins things!_ So she was resolved: the monk could not be allowed to leave. She inhaled sharply, summoning the concentration to cast a spell she had not employed in some time. Fixing the destination firmly in her mind, she pointed an index finger at the receding figure of the human. A brilliant bolt of crimson light erupted from the tip of her finger, lancing across the room and seconds and striking the monk in the back. The human uttered a harsh cry of pain before vanishing, leaving behind a few specks of red dust. Soon even that was gone.

"Mistress, where did you send him?" Tebimar asked in a hushed voice.

Myrune smiled grimly. "To hell. One type, anyhow. Pray that you never meet the same fate, Tebimar. Now, come quickly. We need some story to give to the Seer about his disappearance."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The flesh golems they had met before had been ugly, but the golem looming before them was the definition of gruesome.

Alain and Valen had quickly lost sight of the fleeing flesh golem, but it had not mattered: the corridors were filled with them. Most of the groups were similar to the first in that they were involved in battle with mythril golems. Unfortunately, these new golems were no more sympathetic to them than the first, and they had ended up fighting both groups. Finally, they had caught the scarred golem. But instead of fighting, it had asked to parley. Now, they had been taken to Aghaaz, the leader of the flesh golems.

Demons themselves aren't too pretty. So it shouldn't have been such a surprise, Alain surmised, to discover that a golem made out of their skin should be much of a looker either.

Aghaaz was only a few inches taller than Valen, but he seemed to stretch much higher above them. His "skin" was pocked and discolored, seeming oddly lumpy in certain areas. His hands ended in talons made of demonbone, he guessed, and his yellow luminous eyes smoldered with some unknown light. There was an unmistakable aura about him that made the back of his neck tingle.

Alain concentrated, feeling the inner click inside his head, and flinched. Aghaaz's aura was a grayish-black, which seemed to creep and crawl, grow and shrink over him like a living cloak of insects. Goosebumps broke out over his skin, and he shivered voluntarily. He relaxed, and the aura mercifully faded from view.

_What are we dealing with here?_ Alain wondered.

"Humans," Agaaz rumbled. "Perhaps this is an omen, the first sign that our glorious Maker has returned, brothers!" The flesh golems around them mumbled appreciatively, their hushed voices in awe. Alain gaped at Valen, dumbfounded.

"We have come to ask for your aid in a war we are waging, against the Valsharess," Valen said, taking charge of the situation. "Our forces are outnumbered, and the Valsharess seeks to--"

"Valsharess? War?" Aghaaz laughed, a booming echo quickly followed by his subordinates'. "We golems have no interest in the outside world. Perhaps, if you aid us, we could aid you..?"

All of a sudden Alain wasn't sure they wanted help so badly. Besides that, from the conversation they had overheard between the two factions earlier, it sounded like these flesh golems weren't the side to help. But Valen either missed his warning look, or chose to ignore it. Fortunately, so did Aghaaz.

"For five hundred years, we have tried to put down the heretic Ferron and his group of rebels. They refuse to acknowledge me as the Maker's anointed, and wish to escape this place and find their freedom," Aghaaz explained. "I will not allow it. As long as I hold control over their Power Source, they are bound here."

"Why not just let them go?" Valen reasoned.

"When the Maker returns and discovers that I allowed his creations to escape, I will be destroyed. As it is, if he learns of Ferron's foolishness, I may be destroyed anyway! I am his High Priest, after all," Aghaaz said smugly. "But our forces are too evenly matched, and we are at a stand-off."

"That's where we would come in?" Alain asked with some distaste.

"Bring me Ferron's head, and I will assist you in your war." Aghaaz said in a business-like tone.

"I don't understand," Valen said, shaking his head. "No mortal can live for 500 years, and even if he is alive, don't you think he would have given you some sign? I think this Ferron may be right."

"I agree," Alain said. "Why do you let your golems die, fighting for a master who may never return? Why not give Ferron his power source and let him go? You have nothing to fear."

Aghaaz did not answer right away. Instead, his golden eyes darkened, and the very air seemed to thicken. "I see now. Such blasphemy could only come from the mouths of those who have listened to Ferron's lies. You have come as spies, to steal his precious power source! Kill them!" he shouted suddenly, his wrath crashing over them. "Kill the heretics! Aghaaz and the Maker command you!"

The mob of flesh golems that surrounded them voiced a unified shout in agreement, before surging forward from all sides. A fist lashed out from behind, striking Alain in the small of the back, and he stumbled, hissing through his teeth in pain. His Ki had absorbed the brunt of the blow, but he could feel a welt beginning to form. A quick, looping uppercut came from a towering flesh golem on his right, but he sidestepped the attack and kicked out its legs from under it. The golem went down heavily; a second later, its head exploded in a shower of goo and gore as another charging golem stomped over it. Alain allowed himself a quick look at Valen, to see how he was handling himself.

Blows rained on Valen from all angles, but his armor allowed him to weather the worst of the attack. His eyes burned an unnatural red, and as Alain watched, he swung a vicious sweeping blow, dashing the heads of two golems. Valen snarled like a feral cat, and the golems around him took an uneasy step backward. _When he fights, he looks completely different, _Alain thought dimly, as he propelled himself towards the tiefling. _He doesn't know it, either. _

A golem had crept behind Valen, carrying a large, heavy crate. Alain attacked it from behind, leaping in the air and kicking at the golem's elbow. His opponent's arm snapped like a chicken bone, and the crate above it fell, pinning the squirming golem beneath it. Swiftly, Alain leapt on top of the shifting crate, gained his balance, and sprung, crashing into two more golems on Valen's right. Valen fell two more golems before the group fled, darting back into the shadows with a speed he had not suspected. The tiefling breathed heavily, wiping golem goo from his flail, before standing up. Alain scrambled to his feet from his position on top of the golems, wiping his clothes clean of any golem residue.

"Where did Aghaaz go?" Valen asked. Alain looked at him, a little unnerved, and shrugged. Valen's eyes were still showing some of that uncomfortable red glow.

"I'm not sure. After the power source, I think. He went down that way." He pointed distractedly down a corridor to their left, more concerned with scraping a piece of flesh from his boot. He looked up at Valen crossly. "You just had to get him mad, didn't you?"

Valen allowed a wry grin to appear. "I did it on purpose. I really didn't like that guy."

Alain scowled for a second longer, before breaking into a sunny grin. "Yeah, me either."

"Then let's go after--"

"Wait a minute!" Alain interrupted, grabbing Valen's shoulder. Valen glared at him, mistaking his hesitation for cowardice.

"I'm just saying. He's not going anywhere, and we need to prepare." Alain explained quickly. Valen stared at him a second longer.

"Prepare how?"

"He may be a golem, but he's a golem created from demon. That lends certain protective qualities."

"I wouldn't have guessed, being half-demon myself," Valen said sarcastically.

"Just let me—YAH!" Alain cried, driving his right foot down on the head of the flesh golem beneath the crate, which was still struggling and babbling terribly. "Let me see your flail," he finished.

Grudgingly, Valen obeyed, removing his flail from his belt and holding it out in front of him. Alain concentrated, and the flail's aura swam into focus: a kaleidoscope of colors swam over the head of the weapon. Alain took the flail head in both heads, burying his fingers into the aura of the weapon and closed his eyes. Aghaaz'a aura was a murky gray, which came from the flesh of demons. The opposite aura had to be pure, clear, a light in the darkness… He felt a flash of pain, seemingly from inside his head. At the same time, Valen inhaled a sharp gasp of pain. Alain opened his eyes.

The head of the flail was now a brilliant, shifting white light. The other colors of the weapon's aura had not dissipated, but rather, pushed to the side. As Alain looked on, he could see a hint of red and orange discoloring the white light.

"What did you do?" Valen demanded. "My fingers are tingling. It… doesn't hurt exactly…"

"I purified your weapon… I think," Alain said uncertainly. "We needed a weapon that could break up Aghaaz's demon skin, so I used your flail. That tingling you feel is probably your demon blood rejecting it."

"Why is my flail gray?" Valen wondered aloud, his eyes squinting as he looked at his weapon. Alain looked at him in shock. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You know that out of all professions, monks are the only ones trained to see auras, right? You can see them too?" Alain asked. He had heard of weapon masters developing a bond with their weapon so strong that it seemed to gain a power of its own. The flail was white, not gray, so Valen could not totally see it, but…

"I never saw anything, until now," Valen said bluntly. "Anyway, let's get moving. My hands itch from whatever you did."

"It should fade," Alain said doubtfully. "After one good swing, so make it count."

"Wonderful," Valen replied, baring his teeth. "Let's get it done then."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The beam of magic that struck Trey from behind seemed to pierce his very soul. He screamed out in pain, but that didn't seem to matter. His vision went grey, then black, and he heard a strange blowing from all around him, as if the air was rushing past him. His jaw went slack and a trickle of drool crept down his chin. The very air around his body seemed to tighten, painfully, and this time he could not muster the air to scream. Then it released and he slumped forward, crashing into the ground hard and nearly biting through his own tongue. Sight came back in one eye slowly, a curtain of red overlapping it.

He wiped the blood out of his eye, with a forearm before slowly, painfully, pushing himself up into a sitting position. _Teleported, _he thought dimly. _Not nearly as comfortable as last time._ Then, more urgently, _Where am I?_

For it was not at all what he expected. He expected to have awoken inside one of the deepest, dankest, darkest dungeons House Mae'vir possessed. He expected sullen-faced Drow sitting in a cell across from him and the far-off drip-drip-dripping of water from an unseen stalactite. Instead he was in a small, circular, room with nothing in it. The walls were indigo and small designs of humanoids with (_squids for heads?_) decorated the panels. The squid-men looked very dignified, despite their freakish appearance, and cringing at their ankles appeared to be either a gnome or a dwarf. There was a door in front of him, made of iron, and with no handle.

**_Squi-squeh, sqwah-sqweh, _**an alien voice in his mind babbled, and he grasped his forehead convulsively, doubled over in pain. He tensed, waiting for another psychic barrage, but none came.

"What was that about..?" he wondered aloud, and just as quick, bent over again, gasping for air. This time the voice "said" something like **_Whad-whe, dad-abo? _**and his brain felt like it was about to crack, to split open and let out insanity, that caged, laughing beast chained in our subconscious.

He fell forward on the cool stone, his head aching like a pulled muscle, his eyes rolling in his sockets. But just as before, the mysterious attack had ceased. _Needtofocusherefocus.Sohardtothinkfocus**Focuh-focu!**_

"AAHHHHH!" he screamed, writhing on the floor in agony. His mind was being invaded, or looked through by some_thing_, and if it didn't stop, then he would be gone, floating away, long-gone. At length, he managed to pull himself into a sitting position, keeping his conscious mind devoid of any thought. There was a thumping sound in the room to his right, and raucous, yammering laughter to his left. It was then he noticed what had changed.

It was difficult to comprehend: before his mind had felt like a closed room, a contained place holding his thoughts and dreams and desires. Now, at this very moment, it was as if this the walls of this room had been knocked down and laid bare, for all eyes to see. His thoughts, his perception, previously accessed only by him, no longer had such safeguards. That explained the voice in his mind, but not why the voice should even be there.

He concentrated on his breathing, slow inhale… and exhale, and slowly but surely began to close his mind. It was difficult; the human mind was not meant for such mental exertion. He realized that the laughing in the next room was coming from a rather short Duergar, "Stubby," to his peers, Sangof to his mother. He was some 300 years old, he had lost count around 312. He had been a miner for 30 years; going up against some of the greatest predators of the Underdark, and lived to tell the tale. He was also stark raving mad. A nonsensical phrase bounced about in the ruins of his mind: Zing-Zag-Zooboofoo! How funny it sounded!

All this information flooded his mind in a flash; it was too much to take. Could he actually be reading minds?

It was during a particularly long expedition that Stubby was captured and thrown in his small room, almost a month ago. His captors had probed his mind, found nothing of interest, and simply left him there. The voices came from all around. He tried to shut them out but he didn't know how, and…and… Trey found only a gray blur here.

_Who were the captors?_ Trey wondered. He needed to find a focus; he had a feeling that if he spent too much time scanning the remains of Stubby's mind, he might go mad himself. That lunatic phrase

(Zing-Zag-Zooboofoo!)

had begun to bore into his head.

Stubby and a companion had been a bit farther away from the rest of the group. When they didn't return, the other Duergars had simply left. The Underdark was harsh, and those who let their guard drop often met a deadly end. Illithids had come upon them. Mind flayers. Tentacle-tongue. Stubby could recall a blinding flash of light, an alien touch invading his mind… Again, Trey encountered a confusing jumble of thoughts.

He closed his mind off, blocking out Stubby's memories. As he did, the presence he had felt enter his mind began to disappear. Stubby had not learned how to guard his mind, and so he had lost it. Only discipline and mental focus had saved Trey from Stubby's fate.

_Myrune must have teleported me here, _he thought as he leaned against a wall. _Maybe she used to do this to a servant who displeased as a form of torture. _What was most distressing was the fact that though he knew he was inside an illithid city, he had no idea where that city was, or how to get back. It must be relatively close, if she used a spell instead of a portal, but he would have to return on foot.

_Getting ahead of myself here. First, I've got to escape-_ he broke off in mid-thought. From far off, Trey could hear approaching footsteps. Stubby next door must have heard them too, because the laughing abruptly stopped before beginning again, louder and punctured by sobs.

Trey quickly got to his feet, ran to the door and began to pound on it. "Help! If anyone is out there, I don't belong here! I need to get to Lith My'athar!" he shouted, then immediately wished he had not. Judging from the pictures, these illithids were not exactly on friendly terms with humanoid races. The information he had gathered on Lith My'athar's defense would be invaluable in the right hands. Weren't there illithids in league with the Valsharess?

The footsteps slowed, then quickened towards his cell. As the footsteps grew louder, so did Stubby's laughter, and he realized that the psychic "interference" was getting louder. Could the telepathy he was experiencing be the result of so many illithids living in one place? He didn't know and didn't care. Quickly, he tried to fortify his mind, to shield his knowledge of Lith My'athar.

The footsteps stopped outside his door. He tensed, focusing his Ki. _Here's your chance. Make it count, _he thought. The iron door shivered on its frame, then slowly began to sink into the ground, allowing him a look outside the cell. Before he could move, the door had opened, and a tall figure stepped inside.

The illithid looked exactly as it had been depicted on the walls of the room, except for one notable exception: there was some sort of black, tribal tattoo etched around the single yellow eye in the middle of its head. Its aura was a complex overlay of blue and purple, and it wore an indigo tunic long enough to sweep the ground. Its eye scanned the room lazily, before the illithid took another step forward. Its tentacles jiggled, and Trey felt a psychic feeler brush against his mind tentatively.

_Quite some resistance for a human, _the illithid sent telepathically, and the psychic feeler pushed harder, scanning his mind for some weakness. Trey took a step towards the creature, preparing to attack, when the illithid's single eyeball flashed a bright green. The illithid made an odd chirruping sound as a beam of white light flared from its forehead and into his, sending him flying back into the far wall like dust in the wind. He exhaled sharply, the air escaping from his lungs like he'd been punched in the stomach. The illithid chattered and moved closer, pressing its advantage. Already Trey could feel his focus slipping…

_The Overmind will be quite interested in Lith My'athar. Who would have guessed I would be so lucky?_ Trey thought he sounded excited. He slumped forward, feigning exhaustion, hoping feverishly that the illithid did not anticipate his plan. The illithid leaned closer, its tentacles twitching hungrily. Trey leapt up quickly, and jabbed a thumb into the creature's luminous eye.

_Argggh! How dare you!_ the creature raged inside his mind. He inhaled, clenching his fist and allowing the Ki to gather within him, before attacking with a hard right blow to the illithid's ribcage. Illithids are quite weak physically, and this one was no exception. The creature doubled over, wheezing, but trying to aim up at Trey for another mind-blast. The monk sidestepped the mental attack and kicked out, hooking behind the illithid's shins and forcing the creature to its knees.

"Hah!" he cried, as he delivered a hard chop to the back of illithid's head. It collapsed on the ground, its neck jutting out at an odd angle. Trey quickly slipped out of the cell and slammed the door on it, locking the illithid inside. If it were still alive, he reasoned, then it wouldn't be going anywhere. The cells seemed to have some psychic damper on them, as well, because the voices had ceased when he had closed the door. He looked up and down the hall uncertainly.

_Some kind of prison?_ he thought, running down the hall towards a far stairway. The hall was lined with similar iron doors as the one that had been in his cell, and next to each door was a sign with writing (mind-flayer-ese?) on them. There was also a small panel with a handprint next to each cell.

Luck was with him; he encountered no one else on his trek upstairs. The first floor was an empty room, with a doorway on either side. Black crates lined the corners of the room. He approached a crate apprehensively. A small button was on top of the crate, which he pressed, causing the crate to pop open noiselessly. Inside were twelve black, slightly rusty helmets.

"Why stockpile these?" he wondered aloud, picking one up out of the box. They looked no different from any other helmet he had seen; in fact, they didn't look too protective at all. Apprehensively, he put one, fearing the worst, but nothing happened. His hearing seemed slightly muted, but that was all. _Better keep one on. They might be looking for me already. _He closed the crate and left the room hastily, suddenly paranoid. The thought occurred to him, not for the first time: _How I am I going to get out of here?_

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The edges of the door of the outer hallway glowed with an otherworldly light. Alain walked towards the door slowly, followed closely by Valen. There was no question: Aghaaz had gone inside. There was no mistaking the ghostly gray footprints the golem had left behind. Alain looked at Valen who nodded impatiently. Alain nodded and opened the door.

The power source was in the middle of an altar, flanked by two golem statues. A large vial supported by a stone container was the source of the flickering light. Looming over the power source was Aghaaz, who seemed to have been waiting for them.

"So nice of you to come," Aghaaz crooned, running one claw almost lovingly over the power source container.

"You left just when the party was getting good," Alain quipped. "Too bad: this is such a nice room. I'd hate to leave _your _remains all over the place."

"Clever, are we?" Aghaaz growled. "Cease your empty threats, human: you haven't the power or weapon to stop me."

_Not I._ Alain thought, _I'm just the bait._

"You're just in time to watch me smash Ferron's precious power source," Aghaaz gloated. "Once it's broken, Ferron will be forced to stay here, despite his blasphemy. Of course, I too will be bound to this place. But what does that matter? When the Maker returns, he will make everything right!" Aghaaz cried, his words becoming reverent when speaking of his beloved Alsigard.

"500 years of fighting has dulled what intelligence you have," Valen spat, swinging his flail threateningly. "What good is choice if you hand it over to someone else?"

"Enough of your double-talk," Aghaaz sneered. "If you mean to stop me, act now!"

Alain charged forward, running right up to Aghaaz. The demonflesh golem snarled and swung one huge claw down at him, but Alain had already thrown himself to the monstrosity's right, landing behind the beast. Aghaaz roared in rage, wheeling about and swiping wildly at the young monk. Alain jumped back, feeling the wind on his face from the missed blow, and sprang forward just as quickly. Summoning as much Ki as he could, he threw a perfect straight right into Aghaaz's midsection. There was no effect; his fist bounced off the golem's tough hide. Aghaaz chuckled cruelly, raising his right talon to deliver a deathblow.

_Might as well be using a toothpick to kill a bear, _Alain thought. "Valen?" he said aloud, as the descending talon filled his vision. "Valen!"

Valen had been creeping up from behind Aghaaz during Alain's distraction. Now he struck; a hard, double-handed overhead blow with every ounce of his power behind it. The attack would have had as much effect as Alain's, if not for the flail's aura. The purified weapon punctured Aghaaz's ribcage like battering ram; for a fleeting moment, Alain could see Valen _through _Aghaaz. Black ichor splattered the far wall in a bizarre portrait.

"AAAAAAAAAAGGGH!" Aghaaz bellowed, sinking to his knees. His yellow eyes flickered crazily, his hands supporting his weight as he crashed to the stone, breaking up some of the altar beneath him. For a second, its eyes locked onto Alain's, and he read nothing but sheer hatred, mixed with pain.

"I'll.." Aghaaz whispered, but Alain never heard its last words. Valen swung his flail again, a sweeping blow that dashed Aghaaz's head right off his shoulders and into the wall to their right. Its body remained on its knees for a second or two longer, before falling onto the floor, and quickly decomposing into black ooze.

Valen looked with wonder at his flail. "I can't believe that happened," he said faintly.

Alain nodded, a little irritated, "I can't believe I was five seconds from being a smear on the wall. Couldn't have waited a little longer, could you?"

Valen ignored him, continuing to stare at his flail. The white aura had faded, but the tingling in his fingers had not stopped. When he asked Alain about this, he replied, "Probably just some residual effect of the Ki. It should fade."

"Alain, is it possible… that I could use my weapon like," he pointed to the corpse of Aghaaz, with the two-foot hole punched through it, "that?"

"Anything's possible. I'll have to ask Trey," Alain said. Both warriors slowly looked at their new prize, the power source, following its shimmering light for a good minute. Finally, Alain asked, "So… who's dragging that thing back to Ferron?"

_You would kind of think that being made from demons would give you a little more bang for your buck, huh? And Valen's interested in using Ki? Interesting._

_Thanks for waiting so long. Read, enjoy, and if you would be so kind, review?_

_--Ace65_


	12. Mind Games and Mirrors

_Witchwolf: Thanks for the review, and the compliments! Yeah, I've had lazy moments like that myself. I need to review more in general… Tenari, the Drow under the Valsharess' command, is a special case. I won't say anymore about him, though.. you'll see._

_50,000 word, hurray for me._

Chapter 12

Excruciating. That was the best word Alain could use to describe the hour-long trip it had taken to haul the power source to Ferron. He and Valen had agreed to take turns lugging the huge crystalline vial: Valen had pulled the power source until they had reached the site of the first golem battle, then Alain had taken over while Valen kept an eye out for any more golems. But though the trek had been strenuous, it had at least been uneventful. Alain had not seen any flesh golems after their battle of Aghaaz.

"They're gone for good," Valen said grimly, when Alain mentioned this to him. "Their leader is dead, and their faith has died. Be proud!" he grunted, as he struggled to pull the power source over the threshold of a doorway. "We've just destroyed a society's beliefs!"

Which might have been true. For whatever else Aghaaz and his minions had been, they had truly believed in their Creator. 500 years _was _as long time, but they had remained as unchanging and fanatical in their faith as any soapbox prophet in all of Toril. He just had to believe that Ferron was as good as he was made out to be: if Aghaaz hated him, he couldn't be all bad, right?

Luckily, Alain's judgement of Ferron turned out to be correct. Overjoyed that the two had defeated his biggest obstacle _and _retrieved their inextinguishable source of strength, Alain believed that the huge mithril golem had been ready to give them his right arm to repay them. But therein was the problem.

"I can't believe after all we did for them, that they still can't lend us a few golems for our defense!" Alain complained.

The two were resting in a small room, safely in Ferron's territory. Ferron had regretfully rejected their attempt at recruitment. In consolation however, he had offered them a place to rest for a few hours, before the golems departed the island for good. Alain had grudgingly accepted; after all the fighting the two had been doing, even Valen was beginning to tire.

"Don't blame them," Valen said, leaning against the wall as he polished his armor with an old rag. "They're looking out for their freedom first. And there aren't too many golems to spare either. They _have _been at war."

"True," Alain agreed. "Ferron's followers had probably had enough of war for a long time. "We did a good thing here. But…"

"But, this trip still feels like a waste," Valen said, finishing Alain's thought. "Am I right?"

Alain nodded. "Those doubts about me being a savior must be sounding better and bettere about now, huh?" he said ruefully. Valen didn't reply. In truth, he had been impressed by the young monk's resourcefulness, and his skill in battle rivaled his own. The duergar outside the ruins had been trying to penetrate the lower level for years, and here Alain had done it in a day. There was no reason not to like him. Still, he couldn't trust him. Perhaps it was his tiefling blood, rejecting what could be a friend. Perhaps it was pride. Valen didn't care either way.

"I'm hitting the hay," Alain said, yawning. "Wake me if something happens…" He was asleep before his head hit the floor. Valen stayed awake a few minutes longer, listening to the excited shouts of the mythril golems in the other room. Then, laying his heavy flail by his pillow, he too fell quickly asleep.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Alain's sleep was brief and fitful, punctured by dreams. In his first dream, he saw a Drow leading an army through what he could guess was the Valsharess' courtyard. The Drow leader looked vaguely familiar, but Alain couldn't place him. This dream soon melted away and shifted into another. In this new dream he saw the Valsharess speaking to a large devil, chained to the wall by magic. He couldn't hear what was being spoken, but by the Valsharess' movements, she looked angry. The devil looked only bored, not terrified, and when the Valsharess paused in her rant for another breath, the devil looked directly at Alain and winked. Then he lifted his right hand and saluted him almost cheerfully. In his hand was the Relic.

_Pawns, _he thought feverishly. _We're all pawns to him. _But this dream faded and the words, with whatever meaning they carried, became so much smoke in the wind.

The third dream was the most important. He saw a helmeted man walking through an alien place. The man was alone and surrounded by enemies, but his aura showed no fear. The dream clouded over, and for a moment Alain could see nothing. Then the haze cleared, showing him a different picture. Now the man was speaking with a stand-offish Drow, his own aura drawn tightly around him like a protective coat. The man was dressed in rags and looked unkempt, but that didn't prevent Alain from recognizing him.

Alain gasped aloud and sat up, awaking out of the dream. Valen looked at him bemusedly from his place near the doorway.

"You all right?" he inquired. "You were mumbling and turning in your sleep."

"It's Trey!" Alain cried, shaking his blanket off him and standing up. "Trey's in trouble!"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

It didn't take long to discover how the illithids had created such a huge dwelling. The first waves of panic that washed over him was soon replaced by wonder. The stone ceiling stretched far above, with stalactites twisted into fantastic and beautiful spirals. Buildings great and small dotted the cave, tall towers and squat huts, all ornate. Illithids walked about, dressed in finery. The answer, Trey realized, was slave labor. No, slave labor was too kind: it was thrall labor.

Trey had walked about in a sort of daze, thinking vaguely that he would be caught and jailed again. It didn't seem to matter. He was more concerned with the fact that there were so many other… beings doing what he was doing. An illithid passed him by, giving him a perfunctionary mental poke, followed closely by a slack-jawed deep gnome. A human woman dressed in rags entered a building to his right; trailing behind her was a shifty-eyed Duergar watching her closely.

_Come one, come all! The thrall auction will begin in just minutes! _An illithid broadcast from a small stand, flanked by umber hulks. Trey was reminded of human barkers back on the surface, bellowing from their appointed stands on the carnival grounds. The illithid sounded frighteningly similar, though his wares were _quite _different.

_You there! _The illithid called, gesturing to Trey. _We just received a human female, undamaged, just like new! She'll do whatever you want, if you've just got the gold! _Trey passed by quickly, the insinuations of the illithid not lost on him. With a start, he remembered the Duergar following the human woman and grew sick at the thought.

Luckily, he wasn't required to talk to anyone. The helmet acted as a portable mental damper, just like the one in his former cell: it kept his thoughts safe, and the illithids away. _One helmet is all it takes to keep me from becoming like the rest of these poor souls._

He wandered the cavern aimlessly, with no direction, and no plan. Mostly he was astounded at what the illithids had done, what they had been _allowed _to do. Why had this gone unchecked?

A svirfneblin thrall bumped into him, and he stumbled. The thrall however, fell flat on his face before scrambling to his feet, his eyes wide and staring. He turned to look at Trey, his mouth gaping, before babbling out in uncertain Common, "P-preese! Herp m-me!"

Trey could only look at the thrall, stunned. The svirfneblin continued to screech, before getting his feet and taking off at a stumbling run. A nearby umber hulk snatched up the struggling thrall matter-of-factly, holding it up within range of its gnashing mandibles. Its antennae wiggled, its numerous eyes flashed a bright red, and the svirfneblin seemed to shrink in its grasp. The umber hulk dropped the thrall to the ground, and walked away, leaving the thrall twitching and shivering on the stone floor, a mindless slave once more.

That did it. He was decided. It didn't matter where Lith My'athar was, it didn't matter if the Valsharess had dispatched an army to capture him this instant, he would stop all of this. "Something's got to be done," he said quietly, and a passing Drow gave him stared at him with something that was almost curiosity on his face. He could only imagine how many creatures there were, walking around in a daze, _almost _able to remember what their past lives had been like… before they were taken.

But where do you start a rebellion? Possibilities bounded about in his head, but that was all; no revelation came to him. He was still wondering when the band of Drow slavers came upon him. He never heard them coming. The helmet was a double-edged sword: it kept his thoughts in, but also sounds out. A sharp blow to the back of the head was all it took. Trey collapsed to the stone floor, his vision darkening.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

He awoke with a throbbing head and a stiff neck. Hay stuck to his cheek as he raised himself off the ground, and he swiped at it with a grimy hand. "How long have I been out?" he muttered groggily to no one in particular. To his surprise, someone answered.

"About an hour since they threw you in here," a deep voice said above him. Ordinarily Trey would have flinched, or assumed some protective stance, but he was too tired. Tired and slow and shocked at what he had saw. He leaned back on his hands and looked around.

He was in another cell; different from the first, but still a cell. This cell was much larger, with bundles of hay scattered about for bedding, and filled with the Drow who slept on them. The Drow were dressed in rags and bits of cloth, and were different from the other Drow he had met in that they did not attack him on sight. Some were huddled around a pitiful-looking fire in a corner. Others sat together in a group, not speaking, just being there. He guessed that was about as affectionate as the Drow got. He looked down at himself and saw that he was dressed the same as they. It was the only time in his experience where a human was treated as an equal with Drow. The room stank, not of sweat and grime, but of fear, regret… despair. It was the scent that fills the cell of every prisoner on the day they are to be executed.

The voice belonged to a tall, bare-chested Drow. Ritualistic tattoos decorated his body, though Trey did not understand their significance. Though he was dressed only in a loincloth of sorts, he looked different from the other Drow. His lined face seemed to pulse with authority. His dark eyes seemed guarded though, and that was unusual. The other Drow were sullen, confused and angry. It was almost like this one…

"New here, hmm?" the Drow said, sizing him up. "And a human too. Now I've seen it all."

_Prison again. Just my luck._ "Who are you?"

Tattoo barked a short, humorless laugh. "What use are names to the dead? When they decode, let them name me."

"Who's 'they?'"

"They," Tattoo sighed heavily, "would be the slavers. Where were you when they caught you?"

"In the city," Trey said. Tattoo gave him a look that he couldn't read. It took him a moment for Trey to understand, but it came to him quickly, "but not as a slaver. I was an…escapee."

Tattoo stared at him skeptically. "No one escapes."

"I did," Trey answered, and Tattoo looked suspiciously at him. After a few moments, the suspicion died on his face.

"No…" Tattoo said slowly, "you aren't joking either. How did you do it?"

"Killed the guard," Trey said simply. "There were some helmets in the next room. I took one. It keeps them out," and he tapped his skull twice.

Tattoo's eyes lit up. "So there _are _such helmets! I never would have believed it," he sat down on the floor and scratched his head ruefully.

"I've got some questions," Trey stated. The other Drow in the room were eating some kind of soup from stone bowls. Tattoo offered him a bowl, which he sniffed gingerly, before sitting and slurping slowly from it.

"Ask away."

"How did you get captured?"

Tattoo shook his head. "Next question."

"Alright," Trey said, curious but respecting his privacy. "What's our purpose? Labor?"

Tattoo gave him a dumbfounded look. "You really don't know?" Fearing the worst, Trey took his head. "You must be a surfacer. We're gladiators, human. The main event."

"Gladiators?"

Tattoo explained to Trey the prime source of entertainment in the illithid world. First, their minds would be shattered, and broken down by an illithid. Then, they would be "rewritten" and thrown into a ring to be pitted against other thralls.

"It's brutal," Tattoo said, watching Trey's face carefully. "The thralls fight with no holding back for their new illithid master. Usually to the death. Day after day, if they make it past one. And when the gladiator loses too many limbs, or gets too slow for battle, then he becomes cheap labor, to carve up the stone for the illithid scum for the rest of their life," Lev's voice trembled with a mixture of rage and fear.

"How do they break your mind?" Trey asked. Quickly, he told the Drow of how he had been able to shield his mind in the cell, and so escape. Tattoo was startled, but his surprise quickly faded into disappointment.

"There's a machine outside this room which is used to put your mind into a kind of sleep-state. No matter how many thralls in the room- and you can see there's a _lot _in here- they all pass out like an orc after too many ales. It's completely different from an illithid's methods." Apparently, though it was possible for an illithid to completely dominate a thrall, it was easier to use the control.

"Don't give up hope yet," Trey said, wiping his mouth with a forearm and setting his stone bowl on the floor. "We're going to get out of here. We just need a plan." _This Drow knows much. Too much. Was he a slaver himself? _

"What makes you think _you _can get out of here?" Tattoo asked, looking at Trey defiantly. "I've heard a lot of stories about this place. One you get in, you don't get out."

"I did." Trey said once again. Fate had thrown this leader of Drow into his road, much like Tenari, the Drow captain. For good or for ill, they were connected, if only for a short time. But Trey had a feeling this partnership would be for the good of all. There were, after all, no such things as coincidences. "One last question. I need to know: who is the leader of the illithids?"

"You mean what. The illithids are connected by a central Overmind that oversees the community. Think a giant brain in a vat of sludge," Tattoo explained. "Killing the Overmind is nigh-impossible, as it's mental powers are the sum of ever illithid in the community. But if it were to happen, then it would weaken the entire compound."

"Perfect!" Trey said. His mind was already buzzing with the possibilities. _The illithids are a part of the Valsharess' army. Striking now would be like attacking that army. Maybe I can lessen some of her troops… _"Listen, I think I've got a plan…"

Tattoo listened, first with doubt, before the light of hope grew in his eyes. "Do you really think you can do all that?"

"What other choice do we have?" Trey said. "Let the other Drow know. Quick--" But he was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. The two prisoners stood, listening. It was time to put the plan into action.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"I don't think we should be so quick to leave yet," Valen said stubbornly. "There's still-"

"Just because I'm not your precious Seer doesn't mean my dreams don't mean anything!" Alain retorted hotly. "I can't ignore this!"

"The Seer has nothing to do with this!" Valen cried angrily, his blue eyes flashing. "I thought it would take more than nightmares to make you cry off!"

Alain bit his lip, doing his very best to contain another angry reply. He and Valen had been arguing for at least five minutes; the more time he wasted here, the less time he had to find Trey. There was no reason to believe Trey was in real trouble, except… Trey had had a dream of his own that proved true, hadn't he?

"Why are you so sure that your dream is prophecy?" Valen asked, his anger beginning to ebb with Alain's silence.

"There's a connection formed in battle between the members of a party," Alain explained slowly. "The monks in my order call it a _Ki-link_. When a group of warriors fight together long enough, they're able to cover for each other's weaknesses, anticipate what another will do before they do it. Most importantly, they're able to intuit when one of their number is in danger."

Alain nodded. The concept wasn't so hard to believe. Fighting was his profession, and though he had always battled alone, first in those dark memories of the Abyss, and then in his time with the Seer, hadn't he experienced what Alain was talking about? "So you think that's what it is?"

"I think so."

"All the same… While you were asleep, Ferron told me that the entrance to the last level is not too far from here. It's the last place where the Maker was seen. Lately they have been hearing strange sounds. Crashes and rattling, the sort of thing. Ferron says something else is down there. Another golem." Valen hesitated, before continuing, "I think it might what tore apart those golems we saw before."

"So what do you want to do?" Alain wasn't sure where Valen was going. Didn't they have more important things to do than go golem-hunting?

"Well, if whatever killed those golems is intelligent…" Valen trailed off, allowing Alain to fill in the blank.

"You want to recruit it? What if it's _not _intelligent?" Alain asked. Valen shook his head.

"Has anything we've seen so far been mindless?" Valen reasoned. Alain thought about it. It made sense. If they could salvage something of this trip, wouldn't Trey want him to try? _We need to build morale, _Trey had told him. _Our biggest enemies are already here_. Alain sighed. Valen was too stubborn to give up. He was trying to prove his worth just as Alain was with the camp. What better way than with a powerful new ally?

"Fine," Alain acquiesced. "We'll go downstairs, look around _really quick,_ then it's right back to the Seer's camp."

"Deal," Valen said, and the two shook on it, both trying to break the other's hand.

The bottom level of the Maker's dungeon was the darkest yet. When they reached the end of the stairway, a rickety bridge spanning a seemingly-bottomless chasm greeted them. The air was musty and smelled of burning metal, an acrid scent that caused the two to wrinkle their nostrils in disgust.

"I guess this bridge is why Ferron couldn't go any farther," Valen remarked, as he began to cross the bridge. "Looks like a long way down.

"Mmm," Alain agreed, concentrating on getting across without looking over the edge.

They crossed with no mishaps. At the end of the bridge was small platform. As they stepped into the middle of it, four mirrors, previously dark, brightened. A small crystalline object jutting from the edge of the platform activated, sending a tiny beam of light at one of the mirrors. The light rebounded off the mirror and refracted, even brighter now, into another. The pattern continued until all the mirrors were reflecting the light right back into the crystal.

"Alain… do you feel..a little funny?" Valen said, sounding strangely hoarse.

Alain began to answer, but his throat had seemed to tighten into the shape of a pinhole. He realized with a start that it was getting harder to breath. It felt like something was sitting on his chest, squeezing the oxygen from his lungs. He turned to look at Valen, who was already beginning to turn blue in the face. He tried to cross back over the bridge to the stairway, but when he reached the end of the platform, he flew backwards, rebounding off an invisible wall. The smell of burning metal grew stronger as Valen landed on the ground with a grunt.

"The m-mirrors!" Valen gasped, climbing to his feet. There was a scorched spot on his breastplate where he had been struck. The air in front of the bridge shimmered sinisterly.

Alain's hand dove into his satchel and emerged with four silver shurikens. Though he couldn't breathe, it was easy for him to hit all the mirrors with a flick of his wrist. One by one the mirrors shattered, and the light disappeared. Gradually the feeling of pressure faded. Valen heaved a great lungful of air gratefully.

"What in hells..?" Valen began, before staring fixedly at something behind Alain.

"What is it?" Alain wheeled about, looking about for some unseen enemy. When he saw nothing, he turned back to Valen annoyed. "You shouldn't joke around like that, Valen."

"I'm not joking! Look!" Valen cried, pointing at the crystal. Alain saw that the light had not faded from the crystal. Even more strange, the crystal seemed to be pulsating rhythmically. Almost like…

"A heartbeat?" Alain breathed. He approached the crystal slowly, gathering Ki in his palm steadily. One swipe would shatter it. The crystal's beat seemed to quicken, as he grew closer.

"Alain…don't!" Valen cried, realizing what the monk meant to do. A second too late. Alain struck the crystal with a quick left-hand chop. Instead of breaking, the crystal seemed to grow larger. A bright light flashed, causing Valen to shield his eyes. When he opened them, Alain was on the ground in front of him, motionless. A large mirror now stood on the platform in front of them. The previous mirrors had been rectangular and dark, smudged with dust. This mirror was larger, in the shape of oval, and gleaming, as if brand new.

"Damn it," Valen muttered, kneeling beside Alain and checking for a pulse. The monk didn't stir, didn't even _blink, _and his pulse was erratic. He looked up at the mirror distrustfully, then froze. _Oh no…_

The surface of the mirror was rippling, like the surface of a disturbed pond. The wrinkles shifted and rolled, growing in number. Valen saw that the ripples were undulating in the same rhythm that the crystal had been making; that of a heartbeat. Just as he began to believe nothing would happen, a humanoid creature stepped out from the mirror. Valen loosed his flail and stepped over Alain's body, studying this new creature.

It was composed of whatever the pulsing crystal seemed to be made of; its body was all angles and points. At first glance, it appeared to be a tiefling made out of crystal, but when Valen looked closer, the creature almost looked human. He gazed into the mirror-creature's face, and suddenly it came to him.

_It looks just like me! Or Alain.. or both? Is this some kind of Mimic? _Indeed, the creature's face was a combination of both Alain and Valen. A small half-moon scar marred the face of the creature's right cheek. Horns jutted from the creature's forehead, and long, wavy hair made of crystal was on its head. It blinked, and the crystal in its eyes seemed to be a greenish color. It had no weapons, but sharp edges of crystal were attached to the end of the creature's bestial hands and feet. It was not exactly muscular, but seemed to be a blend of both he and Alain's build. Engraved in the top of the mirror it had stepped out of was a name: _Algaricciragla. _

"Are you the last creation of the Maker?" Alain asked hesitantly. Every golem they had met in this place had been capable of speech, but this one was the exception that proved the rule. The mirror-golem's face remained emotionless for most of Valen's speech, but when it heard "the Maker", it's features contorted into a bestial snarl. The golem lunged forward much quicker than any of the automatons Valen had met so far; it seemed more animal than mechanical. His heavy flail was in his hands before the golem had even raised its claws, parrying two swipes strong enough to send the vibrations down through the weapon and into his arms. He leapt back, sensing an opening, as the mirror-creature slashed the air where he had just stood. While the golem was still recovering his balance, he sprung forward, coming in low, and delivering a powerful strike with his flail, a home-run swing with every ounce of his strength behind it. The flail connected with the creature's jaw. It was a good strike, quick and true, but the golem didn't even flinch as the flail rebounded harmlessly off of the creature's face. Valen saw that he had not made even a dent on the golem's crystal hide.

The creature sprung at him, its jaws wide and its claws grasping, but Valen threw himself headlong to his left, avoiding the golem and landing at Alain's side. _Something's happening to him! _There was a glimmer of colored light hovering over Alain's chest, similar to the glow he had seen hovering over his own weapon. The light seemed to be connected to something else…cutting through the gloom to..

_The mirror! _The mirror that had materialized out of nowhere was now gleaming with many colors: first red, then orange, green, yellow, indigo and violet. Then the pattern repeated itself. The colors didn't matter so much as the fact that _something _was being taken from Alain: his soul, or his aura, or maybe just his life.

"Since I can't hit you, how about your mirror?" Valen asked, watching the golem closely and bending his knees slightly, tensing for another attack. The golem didn't reply, but its eyes flickered for just a second in the direction of the mirror. That was as good an indicator as Valen needed. He charged the large mirror, preparing for another swing, but when he got closer, he skidded to a stop. Now that he was closer, the spectrum of colors he had seen before had disappeared. In its place was a dim image of Alain standing inside the mirror, if that was possible. His hands were pressed against the glass, and he was shaking his head, warning Valen not to break the glass. Then Alain held up one of his hands. Valen saw that his hand was suffused with the spectrum of colors that the mirror had been shining with. With a Ki-charged finger, he pointed at Valen's weapon. Suddenly it came to him what Alain was trying to say.

_I can only break this mirror by using that technique Alain used earlier, before Aghaaz? _Valen thought, his hopes shrinking. It was no good. He had only learned about Ki a few hours ago, how was he supposed to use it in a situation like this?

The mirror-golem sprung, and Valen, too caught up in his thoughts, was sent skidding across the ground, a large gash slashed in his breastplate. He regained his footing just in time to be saved from falling into the chasm below. He climbed to his feet, grabbing his flail from the ground, and grimaced at the creature, which was capering almost gleefully on the spot. _This thing _is _intelligent! Alain was the only one who might have hurt it, and it took him out first. There's got to be some other way besides Ki to free him._

But if there was another way, Valen would be hard-pressed to find it. There was little room to fight, and less to dodge on the landing. His opponent was nigh invincible, his ally was useless to him, and he could feel his strength lagging. Worse, he could feel his fiendish strength lurking behind his weakness like a shadow, just waiting to be called upon. But his tiefling blood couldn't help him here: no matter how strong his fiendish self might be, it still wouldn't be enough to damage this golem. Besides, calling on that strength would mean losing control, fighting through a red fog. He might kill Alain with a careless swipe, or doom him to life inside a mirror. On the other hand, the more time he wasted dodging the golem's attacks, the sooner Alain would expire. Already he had lost color, his dark skin had taken on the hue of dry toast. In response, the image of Alain inside the mirror had grown clearer.

Breathing hard, he dodged yet another swipe from the golem, which seemed more bent on playing with him than killing him. _I'm no threat to it,_ Valen thought. _First it will finish draining Alain, feeding on him, and then it will finish me. _

A clawed foot kicked out into his right shin, leaving a nasty welt, and knocking him off balance. He wavered, his arms pin-wheeling as he tried to avoid slipping off the edge. The golem reached out with a hand, seizing his belt, and almost casually yanked Valen toward it. With only one arm, it tossed Valen like a toy over his shoulder, who crashed at the base of the mirror. The tiefling spat blood angrily, getting up quickly. He could feel his fiendish blood crowding in, a dim red haze at the edge of his vision, threatening to take over. _Got to control myself… Alain can't have too time left! _

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The footsteps slowed to a stop just outside the room. Tattoo crept over to the door, pressing an ear against the cool metal, and beckoned Trey to do the same. Distantly, Trey realized he could hear beeping sounds just outside the door.

"That's the control," Tattoo whispered. "It releases some kind of chemical that relaxes the mind and dulls the senses. Then, the illithid comes in, and," Tattoo slashed a thumb across his throat. It was a grim gesture that left Trey wishing he hadn't seen it.

They slowly stood up and backed away from the door, suddenly fearful that they were being overheard. After a few moments of tensely listening for more footsteps, Tattoo turned to the group of Drow prisoners behind them and pointed towards the back. Trey nodded, stepping into the group, who stepped out of the monk's path, allowing him clear access to the back of the room.

Trey's plan hinged on the fact that he would be able to guard his mind, and resist the control. Tattoo was fairly sure that the drug the control released was more mental than physical; it calmed the mind, not the body. _If _he could protect his mind, then he could kill the illithids who entered and turn off the control. He sat down near the fire, and the other Drow about him shifted, stepping in front of him and blocking him from view. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the harsh, nervous breaths of the Drow around him, and tried to visualize himself inside a high, stone tower. A fortress of the mind.

A high, unearthly hum filled the room, slicing into his thoughts like a knife through cheap cloth. The warbling sound seemed to come from all around them, echoing and rebounding off of the stone walls until it was impossible to hear anything else. Try as he might, Trey found it impossible to envision his tower again. It was getting hard just to _think…_

One Drow in front of him slumped on the floor suddenly, a silly grin on his face that didn't match his blank, staring eyes. The other Dark Elves rocked unsteadily on their foot, as if they had just suffered some huge debilitating shock. Still the hum did not cease; it was a nagging edge of pain which seemed to split his skull. Trey soon found that his eyelids were growing heavier by the second; sleep became more and more of a certainty. Sweet, dreamless sleep, from which he could never awaken from.

_Got to stay awake,_ he thought fuzzily. His eyes turned slowly to the flickering fire. Resistance didn't seem so important anymore. Why should he fight? He was warm, he was tired… why not relax for five minutes. Just lay his head on the floor and…take it easy.

With his last shred of conscious thought, he leaned forward and grabbed a fistful of hot coals.

The pain was slow in coming, and at first he feared that his mind was too clouded by the control. Then his palm flared, causing him to bite back a cry of pain. The red-hot coals tumbled from his hand; for the rest of his life his right hand would bear the faded scar. He wouldn't mind, it was a payment he had been welcome to make in exchange for his life.

The illithids may be able to enslave the mind, but Trey guessed that there were some functions of the brain that the illithids could not reach. Bodily functions, such as the heart's beating and digestion, were involuntary, controlled by his subconscious. Not even illithids could keep his heart from beating, because _he _could not stop it himself. The heat of the coals on his bare skin had startled his conscious mind out of its stupor. Sticking his hand into the fire had been an act of desperation, yet it was exactly what he needed to free himself. Coincidence? Trey doubted it.

The humming had not stopped, but now it seemed rather silly and unimportant. How could he have thought it was so loud? He was not refreshed, but aware, as if someone had dumped a bucket of water over him while he was asleep. He could hear the iron door at the front of the room swing open, and then footsteps. More than one. Quickly, he made his way through the crowd of Drow, who moved out of his path with no particular speed, and envisioned the stone tower in his mind. This time though, he imagined a group of illithids outside the tower, trying to find an entrance.

As he neared the front he changed his expression, mirroring the lack of emotion and dead, dreary eyes his fellow prisoners wore. There were three illithids inside; two of which were approaching Drow with their tentacles twitching in anticipation. The third was standing near the open door, scanning the crowd the way a skilled chef looks through his cookbook for a tasty meal.

_If I attack the closer illithids, the one by the door may escape outside, and come back with reinforcements. If I charge the lone illithid, then I may lose one of the Drow to its friends. What to do?_ He hesitated on the edge of the ground, torn with indecision. Quite abruptly, the choice was taken away from him when the illithid near the door spotted him (Trey did not witness the illithid look at him, he seemed to _feel _it within his mind). It broadcasted a telepathic warning to its mates, but by then Trey was already charging, coming in low and delivering a right uppercut into the mind-flayer's soft, yielding belly. The illithid leaned forward, gasping for breath, and Trey could smell for a brief second the creature's wafting breath: a stench of raw, rotting meat. Moving on instinct, he grabbed a handful of the illithid's flailing tentacles, which grasped at his hands, amazingly strong. He pushed the illithid backward, slamming its head forcefully into the edge of the steel door, and its tentacles loosened at once.

_What a fighter this thrall is. _One illithid commented almost breezily, before sending a wave of mental energy at the monk's back. Trey pitched forward onto his stomach, nausea rising in his throat. The illithid he had been holding onto went in the opposite direction, colliding with a dazed-looking Drow.

_It's just a human. _The other illithid sent, sounding disappointed. _Unusual stock, but still human._ Trey fought the urge to roll onto his back, instead forcing himself to his knees. His vision swam with gleeful floating dots, and his hands shook. Just like that, the fight had gone out of him.

_I know you prefer Drow. _The first illithid broadcast. _I'll handle this one then._ Grey hands gripped his shoulders roughly, from a thousand miles above him, and lifted him to his feet. Terror filled him suddenly, but no answering spurt of adrenaline, the great equalizer. Now he would see what was behind those writhing tentacles…

_Now to see if human is as good as—_the illithid began, before cutting off in mid-thought. Its head slumped forward at an odd angle, and the grip on his shoulders began to loosen. Those tentacles loomed closer as the illithid leaned toward him, as if trying to steal a kiss. Revulsion filled him, and he pushed the illithid backwards with no real strength. To his surprise, the illithid fell backwards onto the ground like a limp rag. A small dagger protruded from the back of its head, an obscene doorknob. He looked on in shock as the tattooed Drow pulled the dagger from the illithid's skull with a grunt.

"How did you…?" Trey began, but words failed him. The illithid's mental attack had unnerved him, and now an avalanche of exhaustion threatened to bury him. Luckily, Tattoo guessed his question correctly.

"The illithid over there," he pointed to the illithid whose tentacles Trey had grabbed, "knocked into me. Loosened whatever hold the control had on me, I suppose." He scratched his head speculatively. "Fell down. Saw what was going to happen to you."

"And the knife?"

"Illithids often carry little daggers on them. Some prefer an alternate way to open the skull." Trey saw that the other illithid had been stabbed neatly in the throat. Then, as Tattoo's words sank in, he realized what had been about to happen to him.

"They EAT…"

The Drow nodded grimly. "Best kind of brain food is…well." He helped Trey to his feet, who was still looking at the illithids with some horror. "How did you fight the control?"

Trey shook his head. "I didn't, actually. I grabbed a handful of flame. The pain cleared my head. After that…you know the rest."

"What's your name anyway? I can't call you human forever, especially since you saved our lives."

"It's Trey. And you saved lives just as much as I did."

"Delion. And I just assisted. You got the ball rolling."

They spent the next ten minutes arguing over who deserved the credit, while systematically waking the other stupefied Drow in the room through a combination of shoving, shouting and slapping. The illithid Trey had knocked out showed no sign of waking, and the two Delion had stabbed weren't going anywhere. Soon, the entire company of Drow was "awake" and aware.

Trey quickly led the Drow upstairs, where the crate containing the helmets was quickly opened and passed around. Soon the group of some fifteen Drow, and one human, had on a helmet. Along with the crates was a small cloth bag in a corner simply labeled "goods." Inside, Trey found his stolen clothing, shuriken, and belongings. After allowing him to get dressed, Delion called Trey over to him urgently.

"We have to move quickly now. They're roused, free," he said, gesturing to the Drow behind him, who had discovered several short swords and spears in an adjoining crate and talking excitedly. "I won't be able to rally them for much longer. They want blood."

An image of a tidal wave crashing over the walls of a dam struck Trey then, and he understood what Delion was trying to say. They were free, but there were too few of them to cause any significant damage to the illithid community. Even armed, the group of escapees would be quickly recaptured, or killed. "How much time can you give me?"

"A half-hour," Delion muttered, after looking over the Drow for a few moments. "We'll go back downstairs and free the rest of the prisoners, Drow or not. The chaos should give us some time to escape, regroup, and come back to burn this place to the ground."

_What kind of resources does he have, to plan such a counter-attack already?_ Trey wondered.

"Thirty minutes," Delion repeated, pressing him. "Once again, I'm forced to rely on you. Get to the Overmind, and use this." Delion placed a small greenish vial in his open palm, capped with a wad of cloth. Trey looked at him questioningly. "The Overmind lies in a vat filled with its own juices. Very flammable. Pop this open and toss it in."

_Easier said than done, _Trey thought, remembering the effects of the control. " "Don't worry. I'll take care of the Overmind."

"The Overmind is protected, you'll have to take a transport to reach it. After you finish, come to the front gates. Just follow the other thralls. I'll meet you there," Delion said, but his eyes finished for him. _Unless you're too slow. _

The Drow offered his hand, and Trey took it. Both held the other's forearm for a few moments, until the monk released and left the building. Delion watched the door close, wishing him luck. Then he turned to the other Drow and roared aloud in Drow, "Back downstairs! Free the others, then we leave this place forever!"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Before, Trey had walked the city in a fog, unmindful of the hostile staring of those around him. Now, though, he was conscious of every other creature around, and all of them seemed to be glowering at him. The helmet seemed like flimsy protection when he became aware of how many money-hungry slavers there were about him.

After fifteen minutes of wandering, he finally noticed an enclave to the side of the merchant's bazaar. A tall illithid stood blocking the entrance, flanked by two umber hulks. Trey stepped closer, peering inside past the illithid. Further inside, he could make out a flickering light. Could it be the teleporter? The illithid stepped in front of him, blocking his view, and Trey felt the mind-layer send out a mental feeler, touching his mind.

_Thralls have no business with the Overmind. Leave quietly. _The illithid sent, and the two umber hulks besides it looked at him impassively, their mandibles clicking.

"I've come from Lith My'athar," Trey bluffed. "It is imperative that I speak with the Overmind. It concerns the Valsharess." If his mind could still be scanned, even with the helmet, then he needed a story with just enough truth to rationalize the lie.

_It makes no difference where you come- _the illithid broke off in mid-thought, its eye rolling backwards in its head. Trey guessed it was receiving orders from the Overmind. After a few moments, the eye rolled back to stare at him. _The Overmind requests your presence, but on one condition. The helmet stays here._

Trey slipped the helmet off of his head without a second thought. It had served its purpose, and what more could they do to him that they hadn't already? But the illithid didn't attack, only took the helmet from his hands and tossed it disdainfully into a corner. Then it stepped to one side, allowing him to pass, and beckoned towards the light further inside the cave. Trey nodded and stepped inside.

The light was generated by a small, circular mark in the stone. A similar circle was directly above it, on the ceiling. Trey stepped inside the circle warily, not knowing what to expect. A sensation of warmth surrounded him briefly, and all at once, the surroundings outside the circle of light blurred, swimming in and out of circle. A rush of cool air blew into his face, and the warmth faded. He stepped outside the circle and found himself in a completely different place. The huge vat in front of him containing a massive gray, veiny brain floating in greenish liquid confirmed his suspicions: this was undoubtedly the quarters of the Overmind.

The air wafting from the vat reeked of oils and perfumes; scents that relaxed the mind and senses. There were several complicated-looking devices along the sides of the vats: temperature control, vat pressure, and such, he guessed. The illithids spared no expenses in pampering the Overmind. Surprisingly, there was no protective covering over the vat; was security not an issue? The conclusion didn't comfort him: protection didn't concern the Overmind because it had no fear of being attacked. Here, it was king.

A mental feeler tentatively touched his mind, and the enormous mental presence caused him to grit his teeth. The Overmind was a mass of conflicting emotion: curiosity, confidence, some anger… no fear. _Welcome to my quarters, thrall,_ the Overmind boomed, and Trey winced. The Overmind's "voice" resounded inside his head like an echo, leaving him feeling a little rattled. He took a step closer, his fingers brushing the vial that Delion had given him.

_Not so fast,_ the Overmind said lazily, and Trey stopped dead in his tracks. He grunted, trying to move his legs, and succeeded in almost falling to the floor. His legs felt as if they had been cemented to the carpet. _Paralyzed my legs,_ he thought to himself, trying to control panic, the untamed horse that could escape and run wild through his body. _Never even had a chance. If it does—_

_That to your entire body? _The Overmind finished. Trey could feel a bubbly happiness welling up inside the creature, and hatred blazed up within him. It loved playing with its victims like this. He could sense unseen faces and voices, begging the Overmind for their lives… were these its memories? Now he could feel that mental presence pushing into his mind like a lecherous lover, pawing over his own thoughts. He shivered, repulsed, and his fingers retracted from the vial as he struggled to call up the image of the stone tower, its fortress. Instead, a new image came to him: a ruined tower on a hill, its fine black bricks lying in shambles. The Overmind was mocking him.

_That was your plan?_ _You couldn't think it would be that easy, could you? Just walk in and assassinate me?_ the Overmind thundered. The large brain seemed to pulse in and out, almost as if it was taking breaths. _The escapees are being captured right this moment, and your precious Seer will soon find the same fate. Lith My'athar isn't far from here; it's a shame you'll be too busy here, fighting for me! _Image: A glassy-eyed Trey in armor, charging into battle… against Lith My'athar. The opposite side was led by a baffled Alain, followed by a horde of Drow swordsmen. A moment later, the younger monk fell to the ground, stabbed through the heart by Trey, who stooped and decapitated his opponent. The last mental image was Trey holding Alain's head aloft, his eyes blank and his tongue lolling out, sticky with blood.

Rage blossomed in his heart like an unnatural flower, snapping him out of the horrible vision. Trey's hand dove into his other pocket, which contained one of the illithid's knives, which he had pocketed earlier. Bracing himself, he reversed the blade and pistoned it downward, stabbing himself in the hip. A hot lance of pain erupted there, spreading throughout his body in a tremor of nerve endings. Blood spurted out onto the knife and his fingers, but it was a welcome sight: the paralysis gripping his legs had vanished, along with the mental force in his mind. As he stumbled forward onto the ground, he cried out in pain and relief. The Overmind had been too preoccupied with its victory to connect the knife Trey had concealed to his escape. He pulled the knife back slowly and tossed it to the ground carelessly, then stood, ignoring the blood seeping into his clothes.

"You usually have your guests screened for weapons," Trey said grimly, pulling the vial from his pocket, along with six shurikens. "You were so eager to get me here, that you must have forgot. Too bad. If you had remembered, I would have had no chance." He felt a mental feeler touch his mind almost angrily, but whatever retort the Overmind wanted to make would not be heard: the throbbing pain in his hip had succeeded where his mental defenses did not. No matter. Trey would talk for both of them. He walked over to the vat, his eyes cold and sure, gauging for any vulnerable points in the brain. The liquid in the vial was a dirty brown, which he splashed over each of his shurikens. When he finished, his fingers tingled unpleasantly, and he wiped them on his tunic absently.

"For Delion, the Drow gladiators, and for every poor creature ever enslaved at your command!" Trey cried in a clear voice, before throwing the shurikens into the vat with quick, practiced flicks of his wrist. The shurikens penetrated the brain like it was wet paper, before combusting into flame and turning the perfumed vat into a flambé. The brain was consumed by the magical flame, and Trey felt a last, desperate attack on his mind by a mental feeler. As the wall of fire rose, he could dimly hear the sounds of screaming. Quickly, the monk turned his back on the smoldering brain and stepped into the teleporter without a second look.

It was better than he could have hoped. The guards stationed at the entrance of the cave were gone, and from the frenzied screaming and animal grunts in the distance, it sounded like the anarchy Delion promised with the Overmind's death had come. The Overmind had lied to him, the gladiators were making good their escape! The illithids might yet seize control, but the former thralls had a good chance of escaping nonetheless. As much as he wanted to, Trey couldn't help the rest of the thralls. He had to reach the front gates.

_I'll be back for those who don't make it. _Trey promised himself, before setting off at a fast run towards the entrance.

A/N: Thought you'd like some background information on Algaricciragla, the mirror-golem.

Algaricciragla 

**From the files of Alsigard, the Maker**

It is done. The last golem I shall ever make has been created, and my life (and unlife's) work is finished. It, or he, has decided to call himself Algaricciragla. In hindsight, perhaps that was the pebble that started the avalanche.

For years, I have attempted to assume the role of the Creator; I have tried to instill sentient thought and free will into golems. This facility was built because of the choice rocks and metals that is so important in building a golem. I have not been entirely unsuccessful, but there was still a problem. My first creations had free will, but _chose_ to base their lives upon _my _choice. What was the point of free will if you chose to live in another's shadow?

I delved deeper into the earth, seeking pure metals in the hopes of building a superior golem. To my surprise, I found mythril and constructed several golems. When I ran out of mithril, I used the flesh of my assistants as new materials. They were of no longer use anyhow; they spent of their time whispering with each other and several times I caught them staring fixedly at me.

These golems were even more frustrating than the last. I had succeeded in instilling sentient thought, but instead of living in a society of their own creation, they based their lives around my will, as if I was their god. They ignored my protesting, until I grew fed up with them. At that time, I had discovered a deeper level, and had my first glimpse of the mirror. I appointed Aghaaz as leader of the society and departed.

I am not still completely sure of the mirror's origins. It seems ritualistic, perhaps used in some religious ceremony, and it is apparent that very old… perhaps dating back to the days of the Creator race. It is fairly large and deceptively heavy, and unlike other mirrors, will not show a reflection. Its most unusual characteristic is the fact that no matter how many times the mirror breaks, the glass on the frame regenerates, filling up the empty space the way water will seek to fill an empty cup. I recognized it immediately as the material from which I would sculpt my last, and greatest golem.

The name Algaricciragla etched itself into the space above the glass the moment the golem came into being. Perhaps the creature was independent from the very moment it came to be, regardless of my influence. It was apparent from the beginning that this golem was different from the others. It cared very little about my opinions, or instructions.

Another oddity is that the mirror I had discovered has now become integrated with Algaricciragla somehow. I assume this is because the pieces of the mirror are resonating, seeking to become one yet again. When the construct is resting, or feeding, the mirror will suddenly appear behind him, seemingly stepping out of existence. At times is clean and lustrous, at others it appears dull and scratched. Perhaps this has something to do with his state of mind, or condition?

Wizards who construct golems often insert a fail-safe into the creature, used to regain control of the construct in the event if it is captured by an enemy (which is rare.) Recognizing this as the crucial flaw which prevented my earlier golems from true freedom, I foolishly created Algaricciragla without this fail-safe. I had no fear that he might harm, golems are not blood-thirsty as a rule. On the contrary, Algaricciragla came to resent me for choosing to stay here. What he asked was impossible, of course. How could I leave this island, after all whom I know is dead?

Algaricciragla 

**Feeding patterns**

Again, this creature shows just how unique it is. Golems have no need to eat, as they are mechanical. Not true with A. My only hypothesis is that A.'s need to feed stems from the material from which he was created. A. has proved to be quite secretive during his hunt, traveling miles away from my laboratory before even beginning to track down prey, but my few observations of the hunt has proved quite enlightening.

A. stalks his prey, whether it be only a tiny rat or some larger foe, often baiting them into enclosed areas where they can not escape. If A. is hunting a rat, then the rat will often be chewing on some piece of food when A. comes upon him. If it some larger prey such as the large bats or birds that inhabit the area, it might be a bright piece of tin or bread that is the bait. It befuddles me as to how A. creates these "lures", it appears to be as natural for him as flying is to a bird.

When the creature is cornered, A. will then proceed to rip the animal to shreds, with no sense of malice at all. His mirror will appear behind him at this time. If it is currently filthy and dull, then the condition is reversed almost in seconds. If it is clean, then the mirror shines with a strange light. On this occasion, I can almost see something inside the mirror. What could it be?

**Here Alsigard ended his writings.**


	13. An Unexpected Ally

_School's starting. I'll give you a second to grumble and groan. Go ahead, I'll wait._

_Done?Ok._

_Now that I'm back in school (technically, tommorow, but I'm among friends, so who cares?) it will take me a little longer to write. You wouldn't want me to fail right? Right?_

_I busted this one out as a kind of farewell-to-my-summer kind of thing. Enjoy it, I worked hard enough. :)_

_Witchwolf: Regular reviews are always appreciated. Act now, and recieve a free cookie! Seriously though, thanks for all your comments. I hated the Maker's Island myself, so I was determined to try and spice up the experience a little. I think I did pretty well, don't you think? And hope you enjoy the little peek at Tenari in this chapter, too._

Chapter 13

Valen was right, time was running out.

Alain knew he was inside the mirror, but beyond that, he didn't know much more. He could look into the mirror into the real world, where Valen fought Algaricciragla in vain. Besides the mirror, the area surrounding him was a white nothingness, with no up or down, left or right. Purgatory in the purest sense.

_Not empty for long. I'm becoming a part of the beast, being absorbed. _There was no pain, but it was torturous all the same, having to watch his spirit being torn from his body with no way to stop it. He could sense a looming presence watching him, becoming more and more obvious with each passing second. Alain guessed it was Algaricciragla's true form, not the pale imitation Valen was fighting. When he was totally absorbed, then the predator would come, to feed on his spirit. Not even the gods could take him to heaven (or hell) if there was no soul to carry.

_Valen will win. He has to._

But what if he didn't?

_It's only a golem. _

But what if you're stuck here for eternity, in this white fog?

He couldn't come up with an answer to this question, so he pushed it away. He had to let go of his self, and believe in Valen. _Belief saves lives, not gods. How often we forgot that, _Trey had said often. He hoped fervently that his teacher was right.

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_The mirror is the door._ Valen thought, watching the golem carefully. _Ki is the key. Ki, key._ Algaricciragla feinted left, then pounced at him its arms spread wide to catch him. Valen ducked low, allowing the construct to sail over his bent form, then shoved a hard elbow into the golem's solar plexus. The golem's momentum didn't even slow, and he hissed through his teeth in pain. His arm felt like it was going to fall off. The creature landed opposite of him, and turned, its eyes narrowed into slits.

He tried to focus, slowly rocking the flail back and forth, almost hypnotically. But his darker self crowded in, replacing thoughts of calm and peace with rage and bloodshed. _Alain was calm when he used Ki. Why aren't I? _Algaricciragla knocked him headlong with a swift kick, and he skidded to a stop near the mirror. Frustration filled him, and he leapt to his feet, his pain forgotten. His self-control slipped, and he welcomed the beast in his blood. He charged the creature and swung his flail hard, no longer caring about the fact that the golem was immune to his attacks. To his surprise, just before the flail connected, it felt as if some force behind his swing had given it a great push, far more than Valen alone could have mustered.

There was a thundercrack of sound as the flail met Algaricciragla's chest. Instead of rebounding painlessly off its chest, as Valen expected, the golem was knocked backwards, slamming into the ground only a few feet away from the edge of the platform. A shard of its crystalline hide broke off at the impact, ricocheting dangerously close to Valen's head. Algaricciragla got up slowly, looking at Valen with a strange look in its eyes. Valen thought it was fear mingled with respect. Its prey had never struck back before. He looked down at the flail, and to his astonishment he could see the aura infusing it. He could really _see _it, the spectrum of colors similar to the mirror, only these never faded. _This is just like what Alain did.. this is Ki?_

There was no time to wonder about it though. Algaricciragla was coming at him again, and now he knew its plan had changed. Before, it had thought to play with him while Alain was drained. Now, it would kill him quickly, before his new abilities could manifest themselves. No matter. He knew what to do.

Valen turned to the mirror, looking at the Alain on the other side, then at Alain on the ground. He groped mentally, trying to recreate the sensation that had filled him previously. But there was nothing. Algaricciragla growled low from behind him, and panic filled him, as the aura around his flail began to fade. The aura itself wasn't dissipating, but his sight was. Then, the revelation struck. He stopped resisting the constant attack on his rational mind by his tiefling blood. He welcomed the darker urges with open arms. It was almost cathartic, like releasing a muscle that has tensed for a long period. Instantly, the flail's aura came back into focus, like he had removed a blindfold from his eyes.

_My blood is the ki/key! That's why I've never noticed this power before!_

Behind him, he could the clatter of the golem's nails on stone as it leapt into the air. Alain's eyes were staring over his shoulder. Valen ignored it, and swung hard at the mirror.

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Alain saw it all, though he was unable to recall how it all happened later.

Valen's teeth were gritted with exertion as he swung the flail. Alain saw that his aura was now almost completely a swirling red. More alarming was the bestial shadow hovering him like a second skin. It looked like some kind of demon, with a leering mouth filled with sharp crooked teeth and bright green eyes that you could get lost in. Or go mad, more likely.

Further above him was the construct, leaping high into the air to attack him. Alain didn't know how heavy the golem was, but he had no doubts that it could kill Valen just by landing on top of him. The life would be dashed out of him on impact.

All this seemed to go on in slow motion, as if these were figures in a play, which happened to be underwater. Valen had fought for countless years with his flail, and knew every inch of his weapon like his own body. It was a good swing, hard and true. But not strong enough. The flail would only crack the mirror, not break it. Then Algaricciragla would collide with Valen, killing him and taking his only chance of rescue.

_At the same time, _a voice whispered in Alain's mind, and he comprehended immediately. Perhaps it was the voice of Trey, from miles away. Perhaps it was Valen, communicating through their _Ki-link _in ways he did not know possible. It didn't matter. Raw power trembled in him as his hand filled with Ki. He formed the hand into a fist and swung. Both his hand and flail struck the exact same point on the mirror at the same time. A great rush of wind struck him, along with the sound of shattering glass. A small hole the size of his fist was opened up at the point of impact.

Alain was yanked through the hole, and only the rushing blackness of the dark met him.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The mirror shattered, and for a moment Valen could see through it, into it, into the true mind of Algaricciragla. Then the mirror dissipated into a cloud of white smoke. At the same time, he heard a thud behind him. He wheeled about, his flail at the ready.

Algaricciragla was on the ground in the heap, knocked out of mid-pounce in response to the mirror's destruction. Previously, its hide had been clear, unmarked like an unflawed diamond. Now its body was smoky, darkened with soot and dust Gods knew what else. It got to its feet stiffly, and Valen realized its joints were rusted stiff. Whatever magical properties the mirror had bestowed were gone. To his surprise, the construct spoke in a harsh voice.

"**I can't believe it," **Algaricciragla said woodenly. **"My first wound and my mirror gone in the same day. I suppose I will never see the sky Alsigard told me of."**

Recovering from his shock, Valen stepped forward, preparing to finish the job. He saw that he could, too. With his newly-discovered Ki attacks, it would be child-play to smash the construct into tiny pits of gravel. But the golem held up a hand to block him, shaking its head.

**"Stop. I will leave you in peace. The spirit of your friend has returned, and my mirror is broken."** Valen turned to gaze at Alain's body and saw that it was true. The color had returned to his cheeks, and he could see his chest rise and fall as it had before. He hesitated, before attaching his flail to his belt and turning to the creature.

"Are you the one that tore apart those golems one level above here?" Valen asked. Algaricciragla nodded, his strange hybrid face expressionless. "The I won't kill you, as long as you agree to my condition."

**"Speak. Algaricciragla, last and greatest golem of the Maker, is at your command." **The golem said heavily. It feared this strange creature, with his flail of light. Would it be banished, or forced to destroy itself, or suffer some worse punishment?

Valen looked at Alain, considering. Then, with a shrug of his broad shoulders

(_what the hell)_

he began to tell Algaricciragla about the Valsharess.

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When Alain awoke, there was no sign of Algaricciragla or the mirror. Valen was sitting down examining the holes ripped into his armor critically. The young monk patted himself down self-consciously, checking to see if everything was intact. His head was ringing and his left hand throbbed, remembering the hard surface of the mirror. Valen paid him no mind; in fact, he looked determined not to speak first.

"What happened to the golem? Did you…" Alain asked, rubbing the back of his head gingerly. _That was one out-of-body experience I can't wait to forget._

"Kill it?" Valen shook his head in a negative, his eyes remaining stubbornly on his armor. Satisfied that it was still usuable, he began the process of putting it back on. There was more to be said, but Alain went straight to the point.

"Don't tell me…"

Valen looked at him steadily, refusing to fidget. Finally he nodded.

Angry words rose in his throat ("How could you enlist something that almost killed us both!") and just as quickly died there. Instead, "How?"

"In exchange for his life, I made him promise to help us against the Valsharess. He didn't even allow me to give him directions. He's been down here a long time," Valen said, replaying the creature's words in his mind. "Plenty of time to explore, he said."

Neither said anything for a few moments, listening to the maddening drip-drip-dripping of water falling from some far-off stalactite. Finally Alain broke the silence with a question, "Valen, why did you let him go?"

"He reminded me of myself," Valen said slowly, looking at the ceiling steadily. "I told you I was a soldier, but I never told you where I fought." He sighed heavily, shifting his breastplate, which had begun to sag to one side. "I fought in the Blood War. You know what that is?"

Alain nodded. He had read about it somewhere before, though he could not recall when. The ancient war between devils and demons, for reasons which no one remembered or cared to know. A battle fought not for land, profit or weapons, only for blood, with soldiers that spawned in a never-ending cycle from various planes. _Funny how much war seems to matter lately, and yet it means nothing at all._

"I don't remember it very well. Days melted into each other until the only thing that separated one from the next was the color of your opponent's lifeblood leaking onto the ground. I fought well, but I might as well have been trying to smash the sky instead of the pit fiends. It was hopeless. There was no cause, no meaning, and no use. Not that I realized that at the time. At the time, I didn't care."

"I see," Alain said, digesting Valen's story. "Algaricciragla was living a life similar to yours. Forced to stay in this cave, where his mirror was, killing whatever lives here for no reason other than to pass the time. So you gave him his freedom." Alain noted with some amusement how quickly they had changed from calling Algaricciragla "he" instead of "it."

"In exchange for one last battle," Valen finished. "And then, the gods grant him luck in whatever future he seeks."

"Hopefully, he'll be more successful in hunting the Valsharess' troops than he was with us."

"Us?" Valen snorted. "If I remember correctly, I wasn't the one lying comatose on the ground, now was I?"

"No," Alain shot back, with a smirk, "You were the one trying to elbow a _crystal _golem in the _chest_, if my memory serves."

They stared at each other, determined not blink first. Then they broke into laughter at the same time. It was a strange sound to hear in such a place, but in it the two become friends. He and Trey had formed a _Ki-link _secured with trust; already he could sense a link developing between himself and Valen. In time, with training, so would Valen.

When their laughter finally tapered off, Valen asked, "In all of my battles, I've never used- Ki, you called it? Do you know why that is?"

"Oh," Alain said, and to Valen's surprise, he chuckled. "That's an easy question. Ki is the energy of your mind, spirit, soul (whatever you prefer). But you've been repressing it this whole time. You're a tiefling, but you're allowing only your human "half" to fight. Your demon "half" never even factored. All this time, you've only harnessed half as much Ki as you can."

"But I have to repress it," Valen said, frustrated. "You don't know how I was before-"

"Doesn't matter," Alain said, cutting him off. "Don't worry about it, we'll talk about it when we get back to the camp."

"The camp? What about Trey? Didn't you say he was in trouble?"

"He was before," Alain replied matter-of-factly. "But not anymore."

"How do you _know _that? Is Ki really that powerful, and yet so unknown?"

"Yes. No. I don't know!" he cried angrily. "All I know for sure is, if something happens to him, I'll know." It was confusing. He and Trey had fought together for a long time, and been separated more than once. But never was it this bizarre. He didn't dare tell Valen earlier, but there was a lot to this _Ki-link_ that he didn't know about. _Could _their combined Ki be so powerful? It had to be, he was sure he just wasn't hoping for the best for Trey's safety. _He's doing his part. I have to do mine. _"For now, we should return to Lith My'athar and prepare our defenses."

"That suits me," Valen said. He was eager to return to the Seer, and make his report. His unspoken fear lurked below his mind, ready to surface: that they would return to the camp only to find it in shambles. He buried it, refusing to entertain the thought. The Seer, Nathyrra, Imloth… all of them were fine. "We've got a long walk back, might as well start now."

"Don't worry about that, I'll handle it." Alain said, thinking of the Relic of the Reaper in his bag. A disconnected image from his dream flashed into his mind: the devil holding the Relic in one scaly palm. _Stop it. You're no Seer. Don't let nightmares scare you. _

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"Make your report, Jarluk." Tenari ordered tersely from his seat, scrutinizing the latest intelligence reports of Lith My'athar gathered by his scouts. The camp was no fortress, and its positioning was bad: boxed in by high stalagmites with only two gates to protect the doors. It would be costly and ineffective to starve the rebels out in a siege, making a frontal attack the most sensible option. The Valsharess wanted the rebels overwhelmed and wiped out. And what the Valsharess wants, the Valsharess gets.

"Right away, Commander," Jarluk replied in a clipped tone, which he hoped betrayed none of the fear he felt. He straightened the papers he held in his hand nervously, and stood at attention. Tenari had only taken command three weeks ago, and already there a multitude of rumors about him flying about the camp. Some claimed he had the luck of the Devil, as he was saved from execution by the Valsharess' "pet". Others suggested that he had been possessed by Mephistopheles, who had been commissioned by the Valsharess to sniff out any signs of disloyalty. Jarluk heard theses rumors and believed none of them. But he had to admit, there was something about this Drow's eyes… _Can I see red in them? Must be my imagination. _

"Ahem.." Tenari straightened the reports and leaned back in his chair, studying the sub-lieutenant lazily. "Our scouts report that the rebels camp of Lith My'athar appears to be buckling down for our attack. There is a lot of commotion going on behind the gate, but we have seen no sign of any additional soldiers being moved in. It is possible that they may have reinforcements coming in from the Dark River, but the priestesses doubt this."

Jarluk shifted a set of papers to the front and continued. "Morale is high, and there has been no reports of desertion." _Of course. Where else could they run? The Valsharess controls everything. _Tenari thought, bored. He could care less about morale, or the plans of the rebels. _Just tell me you find that monk, Jarluk. That's all I want to here._

"However," Jarluk said, steeling himself for any outbursts from the commander, "there has been some unusual activity in this region."

"Really?" Tenari asked, eyebrows raised. "What kind of activity?" The army's march towards Lith My'athar had been mysteriously uneventful. It was good to know that his instincts were still sharp.

"An ally of ours, an outpost of illithids near Lith My'athar, has been burned to the ground. Completely decimated." _That explains it. The flames must have scared off all but the very big creatures in the area. _

"Ah. That _is _unusual." Unusual, but not disastrous. There were plenty more illithid promised to the Valsharess, after all. "I suppose this has something to do with the rebels, though I can't see how."

"Perhaps, sir," Jarluk replied crisply, a little relieved that Tenari had not made a fuss. "There are some slavers outside, some of ours, who claim to have seen who the culprit was."

"Bring them in," Tenari ordered, and Jarluk stepped outside the tent. A moment later, he re-entered, followed by three disheveled Drow, who looked almost hungrily around them, taking in the ornate decorations of the tent. Tenari paid them no mind, and Jarluk gave one of the Drow, an unofficial leader, a hard look. The Drow seemed to remember himself, and stopped staring.

"Ah, yes, my lord. My companions and myself had just arrived at Zorvak'mur. We had just captured a good number of Drow rebels just outside Menzoberranzen. We registered them as gladiators, and while I we were wandering around town," _Probably wondering where to spend your money first,_ Tenari thought distastefully. He had no love for slavers. The money might have been good, but dealing in flesh trade went against even _his _few principles.

"We see this human in a helmet just walking around, not paying attention!" At this, Tenari visibly straightened his chair, instantly alert. Jarluk noticed this and wondered what it meant. The slaver did not pay attention but went on, "So we jump him, and throw him in with the rest of the gladiators. Well, it can't have been much more than an hour later when the same human goes running by like the wind!"

"What did he look like?" Tenari demanded, but the slaver, obviously used to telling stories where his listeners interrupted often, paid him no mind.

"All of the illithids were going mad. Their tentacles were twitching like mad, one even keeled over and started convulsing on the ground! Around then, this hook horror went berserk and swung one of those talons straight at-"

Tenari was up and across in the room in so little time that he didn't even seem to move. His papers weren't even blown off of his desk in his wake. He wrapped his fingers, long but as strong as steel, around the Drow's throat and pulled him close. "When I ask a question, I expect it to be answered? Understand?"

The slaver croaked unintelligibly. Jarluk couldn't blame him; with a hand closing his windpipe, he supposed that he wouldn't be able to do much more. Not that he pitied him, that was just the chance you took when you ignored a superior. _How did he move that fast? He surprised me even more than these slavers!_

Tenari's wrist tensed, squeezing for a second longer, then he released, wiping his hand against his tunic as if he had touched something disgusting. The slaver sunk to the ground in a quivering heap, both hands clutching his throat. The other slavers watched Tenari with more trepidation than anger.

"One more time," Tenari said, returning to his seat. "What did the human look like?"

"H-he," the slaver rasped, struggling to his feet. "He was bald, dark-skinned… had no weapons..."

Tenari's pulse doubled. There was no question. The slaver had given him a rather basic, but accurate description of the same human that had thwarted him in Undermountain and consequently nearly gotten him executed. Hate is often stupid, sometimes fierce, but nearly always enduring in the Drow world.

After the slavers had been dismissed, Tenari turned to Jarluk. "Where was the human headed?"

"The human was seen departing Zorvak'mur with a group of Drow. As of now, we only have a rough idea of his whereabouts."

Tenari considered. What he _really _to do was gather a small posse and leave camp immediately to pursue the monk. But he couldn't do that now, not as commander of the army. Not unless he wanted to have his head on a pike outside the Valsharess' gates. As much as his heart cried out for revenge, he had to push on for the rebel camp. _Besides, he's obviously working with the rebels. With some luck, I'll meet him on the field and have the pleasure of leading these Drow to victory at the same time. _

"Sir, why does this human matter? He's just one human, right?" Jarluk ventured tentatively. Tenari could have laughed aloud. How he could possibly answer that question?_ That's what I thought too, Jarluk, that exact same thing! What can one human do? How about destroy my chances at a promotion? How about outwitting me not once, but twice? Not so useless after all, especially if that devil wants him dead too._

Instead he said, "the human _does_ matter, Jarluk. He is obviously the one who incited the thralls to revolt and destroyed the outpost, with plenty of help of course. But for the time being, he is not yet important to attract the attention of this army. That will be all, lieutenant."

Jarluk left the tent quickly, feeling one part relieved and two parts unnerved. The commander had lied to him, which by itself was not distressing at all. Generals lied to their troops all the time, after all. Maybe soldiers even _needed _to be lied to, in order to fight effectively. But the lie, along with the fact of how _fast _Tenari had moved… well that changed things. Anyone who could stay out of the reach of someone who could move so quickly must be fearsome indeed… but it was still only a human. Still, there was something about that look in his eye when the slaver had mentioned the human…

If Jarluk had the time to ponder that look in Tenari's eyes, perhaps this story might have ended quite differently. But at the moment, a Duergar drill sergeant asked him for some help in dealing with an unruly gang of dwarves, which pushed the thought out of his mind, and when he finally finished with the dwarves, he found he had forgotten it completely.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Two days after their escape from Zorvak'mur, Trey, Delion, and several Drow returned in arms. With the death of their Overmind, the illithids were caught completely by surprise. The mind-flayers were slaughtered, the outpost destroyed, and the thralls freed. Trey had kept his promise.

In between the days between their flight from the outpost and their return, Trey learned a great deal about the former gladiators. At first, even after saving his life, Delion had been suspicious of him. However, to Trey's surprise, the tattooed Drow warmed up to him once he heard about the Seer.

"Funny you should mention the Seer," Delion had said. This was after their flight from the illithid. The group had set up a rough kind of camp a few miles away, behind a large grove of giant mushrooms. (The mushrooms smelled like moldy cheese and looked about a thousand years old, but at least they didn't move, which wasn't uncommon, Delion said.) No one was very concerned about an illithid tracking party sent to pursue them; with the death of their leader still on their minds (literally) it would take them some time to get organized. "I was on my way with my men to meet her before we were captured by those slavers. She has a lot of influence among those unwilling to side with the Valsharess. Unfortunately, they aren't many of us."

"Speaking of which, why did you choose not side with her?" Trey asked. They were sitting around a small fire, away from the main group of Drow, who were eating food stolen from the illithid outpost and talking loudly in the Drow tongue.

"Spite, I suppose. It was the same feeling many other Drow experienced at the time. My house, along with a few others, attempted to remove her from power when she first appeared. Of course, the Valsharess, along with her devil, defeat us easily, and we were scattered and destroyed. I don't even know if any of my brothers and sisters are alive… not that that matters, of course." Of course, Trey recalled. Drow weren't too big on family. "I could of have leeched my way into my camp, become a soldier, that type of thing. But at the time, I was too young, too full of anger. I wanted to kill her myself, with my own two hands. Then I met the Seer."

Delion's expression changed, not to one of dumb reverence, but respect and awe nonetheless. "I had never encountered anyone like her- still haven't, in fact. She told me I could hold onto one thing: my hate, or my life. I chose to live. Since then, I've worked hard, staying in the shadows, gathering what allies I could, trying to do as much damage as I can. But it was slow work."

"How did you know so much about Zorvak'mur?"

"Towards the end (of my house, I mean), we became in desperate need of soldiers. Thralls were the next best thing. The illithids sold us their thralls at a bargain price. What we didn't know was that even then, the Valsharess had already seduced them with her promises of power. Halfway through the battle, the thralls turned on us, just as the illithids had told them to do. But during that last month, I learned a lot about the illithids." Delion grimaced in disgust, recalling some old memory. "More than I wanted to, actually."

"How close are the Valsharess' forces?" Trey asked, before cursing his stupidity. He had left the most important question for last.

"Not far now." Delion said, poking the fire with a stick morosely. "Nowhere left to run. The Seer's camp will be wiped out. Don't get me wrong- you did good work back there, with the Overmind! But that was one illithid outpost of many."

Trey buried his face in his hands, thinking furiously. Finally he raised his head and asked, "What do you plan to do now?"

"The plan is to go to Lith My'athar, and do what we can to prepare for the storm. There's not much time for anything more elaborate." Delion looked at the monk curiously, who was staring into the fire as if hypnotized. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." _So much time we've wasted! The Valsharess is already here, and as we are now, we won't be able to stop her. _"The Valsharess' army is made up of beholders, illithids, and undead, along with Drow, right?"

"Yes. All three groups are centered in this area, and will join her troops when they come through. Why?"

"Which is the closest group?"

"Well, there have been sightings of undead close by here. There's supposedly some kind of unholy church, or cult, or something of that sort. But surely you can't be thinking of going there?" Delion looked stricken.

"You guessed it," Trey resounded grimly. "There's nothing I would like more than to return to the Seer; I have a friend there, as well as business to attend to." _Myrune…I wish I could see the look on your face, but it seems I'll miss that pleasure. _"They outnumber us. If we can't find a way to prevent the Valsharess' allies from reaching her, then the attack will turn into a massacre."

Now it was the Drow's turn to stare into the fire. He took a long time to answer, but when he did, his eyes were hard. "I can't ask, or order, the others to come with you- they've been through too much already."

Trey nodded in understanding. "I expected as much. Thank you for your aid Delion-"

"Hold on!" Delion interrupted. "You didn't let me finish. I can't order them to follow you, but I can't let you go alone. I'm coming with you. With the undead, it's good to have a partner close by, and who better to watch your back than a former back-stabber? What do you say?"

Trey was struck dumb by his shock, before a large sunny grin, burst on his face, dropping the years off his face like magic. _Fate is too kind to me. Who would have known that I would find both opportunity and support in one who should have been my worst enemy? _"You're more than welcome," he managed.

"Good," Delion replied, smiling as well. He had little time to smile and less to laugh over the years; precious little. But it was good to know that he was still able to smile, without it feeling unnatural. Damn good, in fact. "But before we leave, we need to take care of those illithids first."

"Of course." Still, Trey couldn't shake a feeling of foreboding. Perhaps he was growing paranoid in his old age, but all this good fortune was making him nervous. _The brighter the sunshine, the wetter the rain. Cynical as hell, I know. Sorry Alain. Just a little longer. _

Two days after their return to Zorvak'mur, Trey and Delion departed from the much larger company of Drow, after giving them directions to the Seer's camp. Trey also passed along a warning of House Mae'vir's treachery, but did not give them his whereabouts. If the company of rebels were intercepted before they reached the camp, Trey wanted any sensitive information kept to a minimum.

Delion led the way, being that he was a more experienced traveler in the Underdark, and had a rough idea of where to go. Their trek was surprisingly uneventful. When Trey commented that he had not expected the Underdark wilderness to be so peaceful, (if you ignored the glowing eyes peeking out from the shadows whenever they made camp), Delion explained that the fire from the illithid outpost had scared most of the dangerous predators away.

"_Most _of them away, anyway. I won't make any promises." Delion grunted, as their way across a outcropping of rock protruding high over an underground river miles below. The path was narrow and filled with small stones, but Delion seemed to have no trouble. Trey was much slower in crossing.

"Of course." _I guess fire has the same effect on predators, both above ground and below. _"Speaking of which, how do you plan on fighting them off?"

"Speak for yourself, monk!" Delion laughed as he reached the other side of the precipice. He patted two small sheaths hanging at his belt for emphasis. "I picked these up on our way out of the cell. I feel much safer holding these than I would unarmed, like you. Now, keep quiet! Voices can carry a very long way from up here."

Trey looked at them doubtfully. It took a great amount of skill to fight with such small blades. He hoped Delion was as good as he thought he was them. Then again, after being trained to use a dagger, a weapon of choice for many Drow, could short swords be much of a stretch?

After a week, they at last found a sign of some sort of habitation : a small sign, labeled **Drearing Deep: All Welcome! **There was a small brownish stain splashed on the faded wood, across the "m" in "welcome". Delion took a closer look, and pronounced the stain as dried blood. Blood, which meant…

"Vampires, I guess." Delion sighed heavily, still looking at the stain, which seemed like a grim paradox.

"I don't have too much experience with vampires," Trey said, believing it was best to be honest. After all, the more you know about your enemy, the less you had to prepare.

"No one does, really. Most of the things you've heard about vampires are true: they suck blood, they don't age, they keep their true forms in coffins. But when talk turns to their destruction… that's when the conversation uses less fact and more speculation. The most commonly known tenet is that _belief _kills a vampire, not holy water, or stakes or fire.

"Belief?" Trey was confused. "What do you mean?"

"Let me explain it this way. An atheist faced with a vampire, and armed with a bottle of holy water, doesn't stand a chance. But at the same time, a cleric with the same weapon is not guaranteed to win either. It's the size of their belief that matters. If I believe you can kill them with water, and you believe you can kill them with fire, then any vampire who faces us has both to fear. But if the vampire can shake that belief-"

"Then we lose the power we hold over it," Trey finished. Delion's explanation rung true to him, even though he hadn't yet seen evidence of a vampire. Who was to say a clove of garlic was powerless against such creatures of the night? It was all in who you asked. "But you've never fought one?"

Delion shook his head. "Have you?"

"No. But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"Vampires can't cross running water," Delion replied, and the two shared a laugh before continuing into the cave. The pathway was lined with phosphorescent lichens, until the reached the mouth of the entrance. Here the cavern opened up, showing them people of many races, not undead, walking about in safety. There were short, but quaint buildings constructed out of stone. In a valley, fishermen milled about an underground river, in the process of bringing in their catch. At first glance, here was the picture of a typical community: surviving the elements, avoiding predators, making the best of life with the help of their neighbors. But something was wrong. Trey could see it in their auras. A woman passing by stole a glance at him, noticed him looking, and quickly looked back at her feet. Her aura was a pinched, faded gray mixed with flickers of yellow.

"Everything seems right… except the people," Delion murmured. No kind words were exchanged among the passerby, and no one seemed to meet another's eye.

"Do bats usually grow to that size down here?" Trey asked, pointing at a large, low-flying bat overhead.

"Not if they're sticking to the usual diet of bugs and fruit," Delion replied quietly. "Maybe they're getting something else in their diet…" He trailed off, but the same thought flashed in both of their minds: _like blood._

"Welcome, welcome!" a cheerful voice chirped from below them. Both males flinched visibly, reaching for a weapon, but the voice spoke up again before either had a chance. "Down here, fellows!"

The voice belonged to a small, roly-poly rock-gnome who introduced himself as Cordigan, the "unofficial" spokesman of Drearing Deep. Trey didn't know how he had allowed the gnome to sneak up on him (_then again, maybe we nearly tripped over him,_ he amended) or how much he had overheard. More importantly, he had mistaken Cordigan's tone for good cheer instead of recognizing what it truly was: fear thinly veiled with good cheer. The rock-gnome's eyes had a disconcerting habit of flicking rapidly from Delion to Trey to Delion again, making eye contact briefly before jumping to their surroundings.

"It's good we found you then, Cordigan. We needed to speak with someone in charge." Trey said, ignoring how the gnome seemed to bounce up and down on the balls of his feet.

"Who, me? In charge? Ohhh, no, no sir, not me. I'm not your man, Dan!" Cordigan giggled absurdly, his black eyes scanning the ceiling rapidly.

Delion gaped at him, confused. "But you just said-"

"Weelll, being a spokesman is a fairly powerless position, y'see. You don't want to come to me for a decision. Apparently, I've been told I have too short an attention span for that kind of thing." Cordigan's eyes rolled comically, as if he found those views amusing. His shoulder shrugged in a _Whatcha gonna do? _expression.

"Well, who should we talk to then?" Delion asked, exasperated. _Maybe I should have drawn my blades when I had the chance. _

Cordigan's easy smile and laughing eyes disappeared, making him appear uncharacteristically solemn, and somehow smaller. "The _real _authority only appears when it's time for a Ceremony. And a Ceremony only happens when the gong before the temple is rung."

"Temple?" Trey asked, more to himself than Cordigan. His mind jumped back to what Delion had said concerning a church and made the connection.

"Ceremony?" Delion questioned, ignoring Trey. "What do you mean?"

But Cordigan would say no more. The two walked on through the town, still taking everything in. A Duergar female with a bad leg and a runny nose hocked her goods without much enthusiasm; business must be bad. Groups of people huddled around fires outside, their faces dirty and their eyes dead. Those eyes reminded Delion of the look in a thrall's eyes in Zorvak'mur. To Trey, it stirred up memories of the restless dead. And everywhere they saw those bats, watching them almost like sentinels.

At last, they saw the gong Cordigan had told them about, sitting unobtrusively in the middle of the road at the bottom of a small hill. The temple loomed over it like a suspicious parent, giving them the impression that they were being watched. Delion kneeled in front of the gong, studying it curiously.

"There are runes here," he said, running his fingers over the engravings in the brass gong. "But I can't read them. Why is that?"

"What's wrong?"

"There are only Drow, svirfneblin, and human here. I can understand all those languages. So why is this gong written in a completely different language?" _Something is definitely off here. Which came first, the people or this town?_

Trey shook his head. "We already know what it does, anyhow. According to Cordigan, we ring this, a "Ceremony" occurs, and we get some direction on where we can find those undead."

"I don't know…" Delion said doubtfully. He was remembering the look in the rock-gnome's eyes, when he had spoken of the gong, and the Temple. There had been fear in his eyes, no doubt about that, but also… a kind of ruthless determination, the look a man gets before he does something he knows will be unpleasant but is also necessary.

"Too late for 'I don't know's'…" Trey replied simply. He picked up a small, straight stick and rapped it against the surface of the gong. Although he hadn't hit the brass particularly hard, the sound seemed to resound upon itself, growing louder and echoing off the cavern walls. The town was perfectly still for a moment, as the sound faded into nothingness, then began to stir with activity. From higher up, coming from the Temple, Delion could hear the sound of a door opening.

"I think you got their attention," Delion whispered, standing up and stepping away from the gong, which was still vibrating. The two allowed themselves to fade into the crowd, unwilling to be identified as the ringers of the gong. They would not have been hard to find, being the only ones who were dressed in something other than simple clothing (Delion wore chainmail, while Trey's shaved head stood out amongst the crowd.) The villagers paid them no mind. Trey didn't need to look at their auras to see that they were stricken with fear. Everyone's eyes were riveted on the strange-looking man flanked by two guards who had descended from the temple.

_Not a man at all,_ Trey thought, distressed. _He may look like one, but this one has _no _aura, and that pretty much settles things, doesn't it?_

Delion could have laughed aloud. _That rock-gnome knew exactly what we were here for, didn't he? Damned if he didn't set this up anyhow! _

The man standing in the center of the crowd was a true vampire, centuries of age and his true features cleverly disguised with illusionary magic. Nonetheless, no amount of magic could conceal the man's pallid skin and sickly pallor. Black, greasy-looking hair hung from his scalp. His glittering eyes seemed to take everything in. _You cannot keep secrets from me,_ those eyes seemed to say. _Sooner or later, everything comes to me. _His clothes were much finer than those of the villagers, and by the markings on the staff he carried, Delion placed him as some sort of priest. _If that's a priest, I can't wait to see their god…_

"The gong has sounded. A Ceremony has been called for." The man cried, and several people seemed to flinch; whether at the sound of his voice or "Ceremony", Trey did not know. _Where's that accent from, anyway? I don't recognize it._

"Once more, Vix'thra turns his ancient gaze upon us," the priest intoned, beginning a slow, circling path on the outskirts of the path, so that he could look into the faces of the villagers. Not a single eye met his. "For centuries, Vix'thra has given us his followers food, clothing and protection in return for one thing: belief!"

"Belief, hah!" a frightened old man behind Trey muttered. "Except the 'believer' never comes back!"

"I believe I hear one of our own volunteering for a change!" the priest said brightly, looking over in Trey's direction. His hearing was extremely sharp. His eyes passed over Trey's face, seemed to pause there, before passing on. "Well? Speak up, there's no need to be shy!"

The old man behind Trey cowered, trying to hide behind him. _He's too old. He doesn't need this, _a voice that sounded like Alain's said. _Do something!_ Impulsively, the monk raised his hand in the air.

"Ah!" the priest said, sounding positively delighted, his dark eyes lighting up. "A new face! Come forward, come forward…" the crowd of people parted, almost afraid to touch him. Trey walked into the center, quickly scanning the crowd for Delion, who was looking at him incredulously.

"You _are_ new," the priest commented, looking at him hungrily. Trey tried to not to shiver under his gaze. _Aren't vampires kind of… sensual or something like that? They have a taste for our flesh, and not just our blood. _An amused (smaller) part of his mind laughed at his discomfort rather unkindly. _Rape is kind of a minor consequence here, Trey. Focus._

"My name is Sodalis," the priest said, bowing almost mockingly to him. "Do you know you are our first volunteer in…" he put a hand on his chin, pretending to think, then shrugged. "Never!" He nodded towards the guards, who grunted and flanked Trey. _So I can't run. _

"Take him to the temple, I will be there shortly," Sodalis muttered, before turning to the crowd. "The Ceremony has ended. Please return to your homes. Praise Vix'thra, whose mighty power proves everlasting!"

The crowd began to disperse quite quickly, like condemned men who had barely escaped their punishment. _Damn it, Trey! _Delion cursed mentally. As Sodalis walked up the slope towards the temple, Delion squeezed his way out of the crowd and followed him.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The door closed with a resounding clang. Sodalis stopped a moment longer to lock the double doors, before turning to regard Trey with a chilling smile. Both guards shifted next to him, putting a hand on the sheath of their swords. _Not one of your best plans,_ Alain said inside his head, and Trey could almost see the grin on his face.

"Who are you?" Sodalis asked, almost casually.

"M-my name is Alain," Trey said quickly, hoping he had injected the right amount of nervousness into his voice. When the guard behind clouted him on the back of his head with his sword hilt, dropping him to his knees, he knew he had not.

"Don't mock me," Sodalis warned icily. "You are no former slave, and you do not belong here!"

"Actually, you're wrong," Trey grunted, rubbing the welt on his head gingerly. "I _am _a former slave. In fact, I was almost enslaved again quite recently."

The guard raised his sword, lining up for another blow, but Sodalis stopped with a raised hand. He bent down until his eyes were level with Trey's. His eyes were like black stones shining against a backdrop of unnaturally smooth skin. "You are a spy. Where are you from?"

_Lith My'athar. _The answer was on the tip of his tongue, and he realized that the creature was trying to hypnotize him. He tore away from the gaze of those eyes and forced himself to look at the ground. "Ok, you win. I'm actually a traveling scroll salesman. Would you like to purchase a Darkness spell?"

The guard kicked him in the ribs with one booted foot, and Trey bent over, gasping for air. Sodalis tutted sympathetically, standing up. "I do so hate it when they resist. Look up, human."

Trey inclined his eyes, staring up at Sodalis. _I hope he doesn't spit on you or something,_ Alain commented wryly from the back of his mind. _You might catch whatever he's got. _But Sodalis didn't spit. He opened his mouth, and Trey saw that razor-sharp incisors had replaced his previously dull teeth. When he closed his mouth to speak, his accent was decidedly more pronounced.

"You hoff come searching for undeath, yes? You hoff found it then, in me." Sodalis leered at him gruesomely, causing a burst of goosebumps to break out on the back of his neck despite himself. "Strip him and bring him to my quarters."

Sodalis turned his back on them and went upstairs, closing the door behind him. The temple guards lifted Trey to his feet roughly, pushing him against one of the stone pillars. Both glared at him, blood-red eyes shining through their black helmets.

"You heard the man," one guard said gruffly. "Strip." He put a hand on his sword, as if waiting for Trey to argue. _Time to cut the act. _Trey exhaled slowly, gathering his Ki and preparing for a charge. But before he could move a muscle, utter darkness fell over him. He threw himself hard to his right, hearing the two guards grunt at the same time, and thinking _Have I gone blind? _

Quite abruptly, his blindness left him as he straightened up from his roll. It was bizarre. A globe of darkness surrounded the area where he had just been standing. The darkness was so complete that he flinched when Delion emerged from the blackness a few seconds later, his eyes gleaming. The Drow winked at Trey and snapped his fingers, extinguishing the darkness and revealing the guards sprawled on the floor with three-inch gashes in their throats.

"How did you get in?" Trey asked, rubbing his head again to disguise his surprise.

"Just slipped in behind Sodalis. Surprised you didn't notice me," Delion smirked as he stooped to wipe his blades clean on the back of one the guards' tunic.

"I was a little busy," Trey replied dryly. The two surveyed the temple slowly. Trey couldn't see how anyone would come into this place willingly, past or present. Thick cobwebs lined the corners, and the ground had about an inch of visible dust. The walls appeared to have runes written across them, the same that had been on the gong. There was absolute quiet, save a mysterious thump in the next room, behind a closed door. Delion imagined a tomb, filled with the restless dead, knock-knock-knocking on the surface of the stone and shivered. Suddenly shadows began to shift in every dark corner.

"Let's go pay Sodalis a visit," Delion said, trying to hide his discomfort. "This place is _des'tai._"

"Hmm?" Trey grunted, looking closely at a pictograph on the wall which displayed a man appearing to have his skin peeled off an inch at a time.

"Not good. Stop staring at the walls, and come on!"


	14. The Approaching Storm

_A/N: School sucks, nothing new. _

_Witchwolf: Thanks for your compliments! Glad you love the story (at least I've got one!) I like the idea of selling a Darkness scroll in the Underdark...Yeah, the lack of reviews is kind of depressing. Seeing another story with fewer chapters and less words, but with 100 reviews, does that to you. But don't worry. Reviews alone can't stop me (but don't _you _stop reviewing! It's gonna be winter soon, and feedback feels warm.)_

_Charlie: There's a fine line between telling too much and telling too little of the story. Glad I've found the balance. As for Valen and Alain… you find friends in the strangest places, don't you?_

Reviews are always welcome. I know a good amount of people at least glance at this, (thanks to the hit counter). Feel free to give me something, even if it's only "I like this!" Feedback isn't my bread and butter, but… I **am** getting kind of hungry.

Chapter 14

Alain and Valen walked to opposite sides of the rocky field, just as they had several mornings before. It was becoming a ritual to them, necessary in its own way. Their sparring served two purposes. First, Alain wanted to try and teach Valen how to use his weapon's Ki at will. Second, it gave Alain a welcome distraction from his worries about Trey, and his duties around the camp. _He's surprising me more and more every day, _Valen mused, his mind recalling the events of the past two weeks.

They had returned to the camp by means of a strange magical device Alain held. Valen disliked it on sight. It smelled of devilry, more capable of harm than aid. But the young monk had held out the twisted metallic apparatus, and Valen had heard a faint voice speak. The next moment, they had appeared in the Seer's camp.'

There was no time to dwell on Alain's magic, however. The Seer was standing in front of them, her eyes not surprised, but expectant. Valen guessed that she had seen them in one of her visions. That could be the only reason that there were no guards about. _If I find out someone's slacking off… heads will roll._

"It is good that you have returned. There is much that has happened," the Seer said calmly, her eyes hovering over Valen with concern, eyeing the slash in his armor. "Valen, what…?"

"It is nothing." Valen dismissed the gash with a careless flick of his hand. "Consider it a parting gift of our newest ally. Please, tell us what has happened."

The Seer nodded. She would get an explanation later. But for now… her eyes turned to Alain, and softened. "Trey has disappeared from the camp."

"I know," Alain said. "I could sense it. Have you heard anything about his whereabouts?"

A shadow passed over the Seer's face. "A group of Drow came to the gates of Lith My'athar a few days ago. They claimed they had came from Zorvak'mur."

"Zorvak'mur?" Alain asked curiously.

"An illithid slaving post," Valen explained. He looked back at the Seer. "How is that possible? Escaped thralls are-"

"Rare, I know, Valen," the Seer interjected gently. The tiefling was obviously concerned with her safety. Strange Drow seeking help were even more rare than an escaped thrall. "But these Drow spoke the truth. Zorvak'mur has been destroyed, they say… with the help of a human monk."

_Trey!_ Alain's eyes lit up. "Where is he? I can't wait to hear how he got there in the first place!"

The Seer shook her head slowly. "He had not returned with the Drow. And to answer your second question… The Drow were told to pass on a message. It was Matron Myrune who gave Trey to the illithids."

"Myrune!" Valen explained, while Alain looked mystified. "How could she do such a thing?"

"It is not uncommon for matrons to threaten an unruly servant with slavery. Most likely, Trey was hit with some sort of teleportation spell. On the day Trey disappeared, he questioned me about the loyalty of our ally. I can only conclude that he found some sort of proof of her treachery."

"We can't let her get away with that," Valen said angrily. "How long did she think she could hide this?"

"Wait a moment, Valen," Alain said quietly. "Let's not do anything too hasty."

"What do you mean, 'wait'?" Valen turned on Alain quickly. "He was _your _friend! How can you not want to set things right?"

"Trey's fine. Besides, we have a golden opportunity." Alain explained. Both the Seer and Valen stared at him with puzzled looks on their faces, so he went on. "We know that Mae'vir will try to reach out to the Valsharess, and set themselves up as spies in our base. But _we _know what they are now. So, _we _can decide what they see."

"I understand now…" Valen said. "By passing false information, we might as well be designing the Valsharess' strategy! Instead of fortifying the ramparts…"

"You could instead say that your leftmost gate is thin, and draw the attack there. Then, you hit the enemy with some well-placed traps."

"A good plan," the Seer said, allowing a smile to light up her features. "It is only right. I have had a vision of _you, _Alain, leading our troops to victory!"

But to both Valen and the Seer's surprise, Alain burst out laughing. "I'm sorry, but I won't lead your army."

"Why not?" Valen protested. Part of him still resented Alain for how much importance the Seer had placed in him. But he couldn't deny the monk's skill in battle, or the incredible power of Ki, which he had witnessed himself.

Alain shook his head. "I'm not suited to the job. Valen, _you _be General. You have more experience. I'll be…" he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Tactician! After all, how would your troops trust me, over Valen?"

It was decided. The Seer relented with little protest, _too _little, and Valen suspected that she had known what would come out of Alain's mouth before he even thought of it. Since that day, Valen had been in charge of drilling the troops. Being the most experienced in battle, he taught the Drow techniques in dealing with any fiendish allies the Valsharess might summon (such as keeping a vial of holy water handy, which was enough to distract a Balor, if nothing else.)

Alain was placed in charge of camp defenses. Whenever officers of the Mae'vir house were present, he would be quick to share the Seer's battle plan. The Valsharess' army would rush to the gate, but the Seer's forces would be waiting in a secret underground passage below the battlefield. When the opponent was grouped in one place, the Seer's army would burst from behind them like a swarm of ants, and pin them between the gates in a pincer movement. The exit to the passageway was located near the leftmost mountain, just a little bit away from the gates. Of course, whoever Alain happened to relate this information always nodded with a serious look on their face and agreed completely, which pleased him.

When they weren't busy with strategy, Alain and Valen tried to spar as often as possible. Alain had insisted that Valen attempt to gain some control over his new ability, and Valen had agreed readily. _Anything _that could give them an edge in the coming battle sounded good to him.

"You'll have to give in to your demonic self, and concentrate on your weapon, if you want to trigger your "sight." Alain explained beforehand, unusually serious. Valen started, surprised. "Yes, I know I shouldn't be able to know that you resist your fiendish side almost constantly. But I do, so just leave it at that." Alain still hadn't forgotten the sight of Valen's "other," while he was still trapped in the mirror. What if, while trying to help Valen in using his Ki attacks, his fiendish blood got the better of him. What if he began to _enjoy it?_

No more 'if's.' Valen should know better than anyone that too much of a good thing can be harmful. We don't have to worry.

Valen had steadily gotten better in each of their practices. Now Alain wanted to see how good he was after two weeks of sparring. How quick could he use his newfound power?

Alain bowed slightly to Valen, who mimicked him, before assuming a defensive stance. The familiar, almost psychic, " blink" in his head triggered, and the world grew brighter. Valen's aura was a mix of blue and red, his human and fiendish side, respectably. Now, as he watched, the Ki flickered, dissipated, and blazed even higher, now a greenish color. At the same time, Valen blinked, his once blue eyes now a smoldering crimson. His flail's aura burned brighter in response.

_Fast,_ Alain thought, as the auras began to fade from sight. _He's made leaps and bounds in his concentration. _Valen charged forward and swung hard from his right. Alain, anticipating the angle, stepped backwards out of range, before moving forward and chopping at Valen's ribs.

Valen recovered quickly from his missed blow, bringing his flail up again in time to block Alain's attack. _Clang!_ Hand met metal, and Alain leapt backwards, rubbing his fingers slightly. He quickly took the offensive, though. With Valen's flail up above his head, the monk rushed in, leading with his shoulder and trying to knock the tiefling off balance. Valen sidestepped him, and Alain turned the charge into a somersault, turning to face Valen again.

Valen was already swooping in, his flail held over his shoulder in a wind-up. He swung hard at the monk's side, but Alain blocked with a palm. Quickly, the weapon master whirled on the spot, using his momentum to attack from Alain's right. This time, Alain blocked the blow with a forearm, just in time.

Valen kept up the attack, pushing the monk back. The two fighters moved intuitively, striking and parrying quicker than lightning. The fight itself wasn't so important to Alain as the strength of Valen's Ki. And every blow seemed to be a little stronger than the next. Each strike took a little more Ki from Alain in order to block it.

Suddenly, Valen faked a swing, before moving in and butting Alain with a shoulder, sending him to the ground. Alain rolled up on his back, and looked up at a triumphant Valen, the head of his flail leaning on his shoulder. _Oh no. Not that easy. _Alain kicked out with one leg, connecting with Valen's right shin, then hooked his foot around the back of Valen's other leg. The tiefling lost his balance, his expression changing so fast it was comical, and came down in a heap in front of him. Alain pushed himself up with his forearms.

"Well, I think that's enough for right now," Alain said, mock-seriously.

Valen sat up, his eyes still hinting at the smirk that had been on his mouth before. "I would've had you, and you know it. What's wrong? Nervous?"

Alain laughed, standing up, and offered a hand to Valen. "You've got a _long _way to go before you can compare to me, my horned friend. Practice for another hundred years, and _maybe _you'll have a chance."

Valen rolled his eyes, taking his hand and getting up. He brushed off the dirt which had collected on his armor unconsciously. "You wouldn't last a hundred _hours _in the Abyss."

"Probably," Alain agreed. "But I got to say: you've definitely improved. Even adamantine golems couldn't withstand too many of your Ki attacks now."

Valen nodded slowly, his mind already on another set of thoughts. "I don't have too many worries about the battle. I only hope that your friend gets back here in time."

"Don't worry," Alain said, after a slight pause. "I'm sure he's fine." But Valen wasn't so sure. Maybe it was because of that _Ki-link _thing Alain had mentioned before, but he could definitely sense some unease coming from Alain right now. He was more worried than he let on, and that was disturbing. The fact that he chose to hide this worry was even more distressing. But he chose to let it pass.

"I have no problem using this weapon's Ki. But when you charged it before our fight with Aghaaz, it looked like it hurt you somehow. Why?"

Alain looked happy to answer the question. Anything to get away from thinking about Trey. "Ki is an inward force, not an outward one. Its effects are most obvious on the body, because that is Ki's container. If you try to put the Ki into a different container… it's like trying to squeeze a boulder into a jar. The only reason I was able to do that with your flail is because it carries Ki of its own."

"That's another thing. Why _does_ my flail have an aura? It's not alive, is it?" Valen looked down at his flail, suddenly suspicious.

"I don't think so, though you never can be sure. More likely, it's as a result of the enemies you've fought, and your travel through different planes. Something might have rubbed off. How did you get that flail, anyway?"

"That was given to me," Valen answered, waving a hand as if to dismiss the question. "There was one special enemy I fought, though…"

"War story? Let's hear it." Alain flopped back onto the ground in a sitting position, like a young boy waiting for his bedtime story. Valen laughed at the thought, provoking a curious look from the monk.

"Alright, since you insist. This happened many years ago. It was my first fight in the Abyss… at least, against devils…"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Time can be compared to a mirror, of sorts. But it is a cruel mirror, a mirror in which your image begins to twist and shift constantly, until you barely recognize what you were in your youth.

If time is a mirror though, then memory is one as well. And though some memories can change shape over time, some remain just as clear as the day the event occurred. For Valen, this memory was the latter.

He, along with some 500 other demons, had been transported to some distant plane called Translexia. Translexia was a barren place, with few inhabitants and even less natural resources. The planet had three suns; when night finally did fall, it only lasted for three minutes. But for some reason, a large legion of devils had been suspected to be in the area.

Of course, Valen didn't care for such things. He was little more than a wind-up soldier, point him in a direction and watch him kill.

Demon met Devil, and the inevitable happened: the battle was joined. As usual, the fight was bloody, unrestrained, and dirty. Pit fiends and balors urged their respective sides on, with a combination of verbal threats, and physical harm, when needed. Valen killed many devils that day, smashing skulls open with ease, and loving every second of it. That was nothing special. He would behave exactly the same, in the countless battles ahead.

What was _really_ special that day, that battle, (even by planar standards) was the creature that wandered on the field. It was a dark gray color all over its body, (the same hue a petrified monk might take, for instance.) It was a quadruped, about the size of a juvenile dragon, though it looked nothing like one. Yes, it had talons. Yes, it had sharp teeth, even a short, thick tail. But it had short, stubby wings on its back, which Valen doubted would allow it to lift into the air. Small eyes squinted out at the world from its face, and small holes on the back of the head passed for ears. Its hide was tough, similar to stone and hard to wound; experts believe that the creature was some sort of earth elemental. But its most distinctive feature was its long, serpentine nose tipped with a point, which wandered this way and that, like a blind man with a cane.

This creature was called an ely'thaxas, or more commonly, the elethax, though Valen did not know it at the time. All Valen knew was that this fearsome predator had been awakened by the din of the field, and had proceeded to attack, slaughtering devils and demons alike.

The elethax is an odd hunter, even by planar standards. Its eyes are weak, along with its hearing, but its roar! That is something else. As Valen watched in fascination (which should never be done in a battle, but perhaps fate saved him) the beast lumbered towards a Balor Lord. Balors are fearsome opponents, but notoriously proud. The Balor raised its flaming sword high, expecting to slice the creature in two with one swipe. WHOOSH! The devil's blade came down with a resounding CRACK on the elethax's backside, but just as quickly, bounced back, repelled. The elethax snorted angrily, its nose lifting towards the Balor like a third eye regarding him, before bellowing an ear-shattering screech. The Balor tensed, then dropped his sword to cover his ringing ears. The elethax's nose whipped forward, deviously quick, plunging into the Balor's chest and puncturing his chest cavity. The Balor bellowed in pain, its entrails spilling from its chest, which the elethax greedily began to shove in its mouth. With a start, Valen realized the obvious. _Balors don't _have _ears!_

Several demons and devils rushed forward, momentarily united in their purpose to kill. Destroying a creature strong enough to kill a Balor was the same as killing the Balor yourself, which meant glory, and rewards for one lucky devil/demon. The elethax paused from its kill, just long enough to let out another chilling howl. The planar inhabitants froze on the spot, just as the Balor did. Instead of attacking as it had before however, the elethax sprung forward, past the group, slamming away devils and demons alike with its long nose. In doing so, it ended up close to Valen, who began to creep toward the creature slowly.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"Wait a minute!" Alain interrupted. "You saw what this thing did and _still _you wanted to kill it?"

"Keep in mind: this was my first battle, and I was little more than a slave at the time. All I cared about was pleasing my master; if I could not, I might as well have been dead. So, risking my life didn't mean so much at the time."

Alain didn't respond, accepting Valen's explanation. He leaned back on his forearms, and nodded.

"I'll continue then…"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Valen sprang atop the creature, his face turned into a fiendish leer. He swung his flail hard at the creature's neck, but he might as well have been using a plank of wood. The flail rebounded harmlessly, and the elethax snorted in annoyance. Instead of roaring, it used its nose to pluck Valen off its back like a piece of fruit from a tree.

"Hnnh!" Valen grunted, upside-down, as the elethax peered at him curiously. His eyes widened as the elethax's mouth yawned open, revealing a set of crooked, razor-sharp teeth. His fingers pried at the elethax's nose, trying to loosen its grip, but he was inexorably lowered towards that gaping maw. With no other option, Valen swung his flail at the elethax's pink tongue, hoping desperately that he wouldn't lose his weapon in his first battle to this freakish animal. The elethax yowled as the flail connected with its soft, fleshy tongue, and Valen fell with a crash to the ground as it released him. Immediately, he sprang up and retreated, while the elethax spat and sneezed, trying to soothe its bruised tongue.

Sadly, it takes a great deal to make a tiefling give up, once one has made up his mind to do something. Valen swung his flail at the elethax's squinted left eye, hoping to blind it. The metal snapped into the sensitive nerves at base of its eye, and this time the elethax yelped, feeling real pain for the first time in its long life. It swung its long nose instinctively, striking Valen in the side and sending him flying. The tiefling crashed into the ground, feeling a bitter snap as two of his ribs fractured. The elethax sprawled out on the ground, burying its head into the rocks in a vain attempt to relieve its pain. Valen saw that its neck was exposed, and that was all the motivation he needed to swallow his pain and take his feet.

The elethax's neck is its one weak point. But, setting it apart from virtually all other creatures that share this weakness, it takes a great amount of force to damage the neck. Valen knew none of this. The stabbing pain in his left side, combined with the rage boiling inside his chest and the bloodlust of the kill, was enough to draw out the flail's true power.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"What's wrong?" Alain asked. Valen had broken off in the middle of the story, and was now staring fixedly into space, deep in thought. "Forget what happened next?"

"Maybe I did…" Valen replied, more to himself than Alain.

"Huh?"

"I did forget," Valen snapped out of his reverie, looking at Alain again. "I had used Ki- just once, that first battle. I must have forgotten it."

"So what happened next?"

"I killed it, of course," Valen said simply, with a shrug of his broad shoulders. "My swing felt stronger than usual- the Ki, of course- snapped the thing's neck like a batwing."

"…"

"What?"

"Valen…" Alain shook his head sadly. "You need more work on your endings. That was pretty anti-climatic."

"You think you can do better? I 'd like to hear it." Now it was Valen's turn to sit down. Alain sprung to his feet, quick to take the challenge.

"Hmmm… this happened on the surface, some years ago. I know you've never seen the surface, but use your imagination…"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

A few years ago, during our travels, Trey and Alain happened to stumble upon a little village called Breakwood, not too far away from Athlatka. The two had chosen to travel through the country by foot, and they needed to re-supply. But before the monks could leave, the mayor of the town stopped them. He recognized them by their robes as monks of the Way of the Open Palm.

The mayor explained his reasons for stopping them. Breakwood had recently been besieged by a group of orc bandits, from the surrounding wood. These orcs had been raiding their supply carts and injuring their loggers for about two weeks. Breakwood had sent a request for help to Athlatka, but their reply had not yet been received. To make things worse, just a few days before our arrival, the orc bandit-king, Nezzorach, had issued a demand to the mayor: 10,000 gold pieces, or their lives. Breakwood was a modest village, whose economic growth relied on logging. They didn't have the money, and in three days, the orcs would ride to town. The mayor begged the monks anxiously to aid the village in their plight.

There was no need to beg, of course. The Way of the Open Palm demanded that the monks help, and they were happy to oblige. There were several able-bodied men to fight, but there was a shortage of actual weapons; logging doesn't call for maces and swords. All we had were about twenty dull axes, along with whatever else we scrounge up. Armor was almost nonexistent, and of poor quality, mostly leather and a few half-plates. But of course, it didn't matter. After all, Trey and Alain needed neither armor nor weapon.

Breakwood was fairly fortified, considering. Gates (made of wood, of course) surrounded the village, with two main gates as the standard entrances. The village was in the middle of a small clearing in the forest, which meant that the attackers could come from all sides.

The defenders were split into two groups, one for each gate. The rest of the village, all woman and children, were armed with buckets of water and stationed around the perimeter. Fire is always the biggest danger to a logging community. One blazing arrow could finish a town quicker than any war.

In three days, the orcs arrived in the clearing. There were about twenty-five in all. Typical orc arrogance! Their pride swells with their number. Luckily, their equipment wasn't much better than what the town had. Some orcs carried bows. Others carried blades. The leader, Nezzorach, wore an iron helm decorated with the skull of a bear.

A herald detached himself from the main company and ran up to the village gates, which were closed. "Send out the gold!" the herald cried in a screechy tone that hurt Alain's ears. "Or we'll come in and take it!"

There was no reply from the village towers. But, just as planned, two soldiers opened the gates wide, carefully staying out of sight. The horde of orcs began to rush forward, eager, but Nezzorach stayed the crowd with a shout. He feared an ambush, or some sort of trick. They were used to getting their way quickly, but it had never been done like this.

Trey and Alain, along with some men, had been hiding back in the glade outside the village, watching from the trees. Now, simultaneously, the two groups left the woods, charging the group of orcs in a pincer movement, hoping to catch them in the middle. The orcs outnumbered their attackers, and if they _had _met the men in close combat, then the battle would have turned for the worse. But Nezzorach had been first confused by the opening gates, and now surprised by the ambush of men from the woods. Suddenly, the open gates seemed less foreboding and more welcoming. Foolishly, he urged his troops onward, to the relative safety of the village.

The orcs ran on into the village, surprisingly quick, and slammed the gates behind them. To their surprise and horror, however, the men of the village, who sprang from behind every house and building, met them. By now, Nezzorach was thoroughly confused. This was his second bad move. If he had attacked here, he would have had a good chance of driving the men back, and the village would have been in real danger. Instead, he ordered a retreat, and the group of marauders ran past the men towards the other gate. Of course, by the time they reached the other gate, they found Trey, Alain, and the ambushers. And so, the raiders found themselves in the pincer movement again: men behind, men ahead, and women and children safely away from the fight.

Of course, the orcs were still formidable. Nezzorach, enraged, bellowed "Gruz'nak! Attack!" Orc soldiers leapt forward to do battle with the loggers, while orc sharpshooters fired into the attackers. Trey moved to deflect the projectiles, protecting our men from the worst of the attack, while Alain moved to confront the warriors.

An orc pulled a short sword of dubious quality from his sheath and stabbed at Alain, hoping to kill him quickly and moved on. Alain sidestepped, warned by his opponent's threatening aura, and chopped down on the bandit's arm, knocking the sword from his grasp. Another beast attacked from behind, but Trey was already there. With an almost relaxed swipe, he knocked the blade from the orc's hands, shattering the blade in the process. Trey wiped the shards of iron from his knuckles coolly, before driving a fist in the orc's nose with the force of a warhammer. The orc went down with a grunt, blood streaming from his broken nose. A logger swung his axe into the back of the orc Alain had been fighting, and this marauder fell, much more noisily.

An orc archer was taking aim at a swarthy logger, busy struggling with an orc. Trey spotted the potential sniper, and instantly went for his shurikens. He was nearly too late. As he looked up, the orc loosed his deadly missile. Quick as lightning, Trey's hand flicked out, moving of its accord. There was a harsh SNAP as the arrow was knocked out of the air by a flying shuriken, inches away from its mark. A second later, another shuriken struck home in the soft flesh of the archer's neck. The logger who had been its target gave Trey a grateful grin, and was nearly run through by the orc he had been fighting.

The people of Breakwood had been afraid at first; daunted at the task of resisting the orcs. But now, with their lives (and the lives of their families) on the line, righteous anger replaced that fear. Driven into a corner, the townspeople were fighting with relentless vigor, and startling ferocity.

But a desperate opponent is the most dangerous to fight. As the orcs' numbers thinned, Nezzorach, who had yet to enter the fight, roared in anger. Grasping an enormous double-axe in his hands, he charged into battle like a berserker, wounding two men at once and killing a third. Trey slapped Alain's arm with a hand urgently, motioning towards the bandit-king. The two were so in synch that words were not needed to convey understanding. _If the leader is allowed to go on like this, and rally his troops, the orcs will escape. Victory is not assured, but there will be less of a chance if they get away. _

The monks rushed the king as one, side by side. Nezzorach whipped around, quick as a snake, and swung the end of his axe at them. Alain concentrated, summoning his Ki, and caught the blade with both hands, pinning it mid-air. Trey kept moving, hitting Nezzorach in the lower belly with his right knee. The raider-king was wearing armor, but it might has well have been cotton if you're using Ki. Nezzorach wheezed, but didn't loosen his grip on the weapon. Instead, he pulled the axe away from Alain, reversing his momentum and trying to behead the two monks. Alain threw himself to the ground, but he needn't have worried. With a cry, Trey had lashed out, snapping the double-headed axe down the middle with a fist. The broken end of the axe went flying away, coming to rest close to Alain's head.

Nezzorach stared blankly at then broken half of his double-axe, unbelieving. Trey watched him warily, ready to attack again if need be. But the orc had had enough. He was not used to all this excitement. All he had wanted was the gold, then the pure joy in reneging on his deal and destroying the village. Now look: troops scattered, axe broken, humiliation sure to follow him as long he stayed in this forest. "Gruz'nush sha'yth haruk!" he cried, before tossing his helmet to the ground and making a break past the fighting men towards the forest. The other orcs, their courage waning at seeing their leader turning tail, quickly followed suit. Before long, only the sound of retreating footsteps and cheering voices could be heard throughout the forest.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"And so it is said: the perfect victory is achieved without violence," Alain concluded.

Valen grunted in assent, despite himself. "I have to admit: that was a fairly good story."

"Only _fairly?"_

"Don't push your luck."

"Hmm, I'll take what I can get. Two out of three?"

Valen's only answer was a ferocious grin. In minutes, the two were sparring yet again.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"You're right, Delion: this place is _des'tai_."

"Yeah, you don't have to- _look out, Trey!" _Delion cried, as the two reached the third floor. Trey was looking over his shoulder at the Drow, and hadn't noticed the Doom Knight looming over him in the dimly lit antechamber. Delion threw himself forward, already loosing his swords from his belt.

Trey turned about quickly, alarmed. The ring of metal on metal echoed down the stairway as Delion parried a blow from the Knight's greatsword. The vibration ran down his blades into his arms like a tuning fork; it was taking all his strength just to hold his blade there! Delion cursed mentally

(_faer'red!_)

resisting the urge to shake his head ever so slightly, where a drop of sweat threatened to enter his eye.

"Move back, Trey!" he grunted, as he called upon the natural powers of his race. A sphere of perfect blackness fell over the two swordsmen as Trey retreated to a safe distance. Delion exhaled in relief, his eyes shifting to a indigo color. Now he was in his element while his opponent was in the dark (literally). He pushed off hard, breaking the sword-lock and sliding back into the shadows.

He circled the Knight slowly, his footsteps barely audible. The Doom Knight stayed perfectly still, keeping his sword held aloft in front of him, as rigid as a statue. _No way he can hear me, _Delion thought confidently, and lunged in with both blades at a vulnerable crack in the Knight's armor. To his surprise, the Knight pivoted on heel and parried the blow perfectly, sweeping Delion's short swords to the side with a swing of his blade before lunging, aiming for Delion's exposed midsection. Delion just barely recovered in time, leaning to his right side just out of the blade's path and nearly falling to the ground. Before the Knight could attempt another attack, Delion leapt back out of range. _Incredible! How did he…_

Then, he saw the reason for the Knight's seemingly miraculous counterattack. The Knight turned to face him, and Delion could see the purplish gleam in his eyes. _Not perfect hearing, or a mistake of mine,_Delion thought. _He has darkvision too. Tried to bait me into attacking him, so he could finish me off while I was surprised._

Armed with his knowledge, the Drow no longer needed to worry about his noise. He struck again with a right-hand sweep of his sword. The Knight blocked the blow expertly and lunged again, trying to pierce the dark elf's shoulder. But Delion recognized the tactic and parried the blow with his left blade an inch before his shoulder bone.

For Trey, the experience was nerve-racking. All he could see was darkness, and all he could hear were the discordant clashes of steel and the grunts of effort from the two opponents. But he dared not make a sound, lest Delion be distracted from the battle. _Why did he do that? In that darkness, I can't help at all! _He thought angrily. _What if that was the whole point?_ a small voice from the back of his mind said. He could ignore the voice, but not the doubts it had arose.

Delion had no time to think. The Doom Knight must have been the reanimated corpse of a skilled swordsman, because this was undoubtedly the toughest fight of his life. He was pushed to his limits, striking, parrying, and countering as quick as he could blink, and sweating with exertion. The Knight wasn't pulling any punches though. He was working Delion backward, maneuvering the Drow towards the stairs through a succession of lunges, cross-swipes, and footwork. Despite his efforts, Delion knew that they were too evenly matched. Worse, by using the Darkness spell, he had denied his only ally.

The Doom Knight rushed forward suddenly, knocking Delion's blade aside and smashing into the Drow with his shoulder blade and knocking him backwards. Delion cried out in surprise, stepping back reflexively and teetering on the edge of the top step of the stairway. _I'm going to fall! _

"Trey!" Delion cried, with just a hint of panic. As he spoke, his mind relaxed, unconsciously releasing the Darkness spell that had been effect. Both the Knight, poised to strike, and Delion, poised to fall, were thrown into harsh relief before Trey's straining eyes. The Drow swordsman finally lost his balance and fell backward, crashing onto the steps, but (thankfully) not continuing to roll all the way down to the bottom.

But as the Doom Knight lunged forward, steeling himself for the kill, Trey was there, deflecting the blow with an outstretched palm. Delion quickly regained his footing, standing up with no trace of embarrassment. He had a new found respect of his enemy, even if it was undead. There is no denying skill.

Now the Doom Knight was put to his paces, as the combined might of Trey and Delion washed over him like a tidal wave. As soon as he blocked a swing from one of Delion's blades, Trey moved in to block his swing with one of his gleaming bracers. When he turned his blade on the monk, the Drow was there, his blades like a miniature hurricane. At last, Trey trapped the Knight's blade between his palms, giving Delion time to shove a blade into the undead's throat. The ancient warrior collapsed to the ground, still clutching his weapon. Delion wiped the sweat out of his eyes with a hand and sighed heavily.

"And that was just his guard," Trey said, turning to the door and listening intently for any sounds of movement inside. Sodalis was just beyond, they hoped. Obviously, he would have some warning that they were approaching; they hadn't bothered to fight with the Knight quietly. Delion had just stepped up behind him when a hand seized his ankle with a grip of iron. The two turned around to see the Knight, his black eyes gleaming with silver in his skull and a gaping hole in his neck, looking up at them.

The warriors moved quickly and decisively, independent and yet sharing the same plan. Delion's sword arm shot out, and in one fluid swipe sliced off the Knight's arm. The hand squeezed a second longer before falling to the ground like a dead spider. Trey pivoted on the spot, gathering his Ki in the center of his right foot, and punted the Knight's head right off of his shoulders, like a child playing a game of kickball. His foot hooked under the Knight's chin, parting sinew and muscle with an audible SNAP. The head flew down the stairs into the darkness below. Delion looked at Trey with a mixture of disgust and awe. Trey had told him a bit about his fighting style, but he had no idea that _that_ was possible. How strong did you have to be to decapitate a man with your bare… foot?

The first room behind the door was large and empty. Bookcases lined the far wall, filled with undecipherable books, and the air smelled like burning flesh and pig dung. Delion cracked open a red book titled "The Book of V'ix," but quickly closed it again. The text was alien to him, and seemed to swim on the page, giving him a headache. Vials filled with strange, murky liquids covered the top of a nearby desk, which was stationed close to a small cell. Inside the cell was a deformed skeleton, with an arm growing awkwardly out its skull and several of the bones were missing. The remaining structure was stained with a reddish liquid, which seemed to have eaten holes into the marrow.

"He's experimenting with humans?" Trey asked aloud, unable to tear his eyes away from the misshapen carcass.

"Or Drow," Delion corrected. "I don't know why they would, but… we've got to put an end to it." Trey nodded in assent. If there was any doubts left in his mind, the skeleton definitely erased them. Whatever other crimes this unholy priesthood may have committed against Cordigan and the others, Trey did not know. _But what kind of priests take prisoners? Or was this to be _my _fate?_ He shuddered, even though the room was stiflingly warm.

A few minutes later, he discovered the reason for the strange warmth. Delion crossed the room cautiously, fearing some hidden trap, and opened the door to an adjoining room. But he had no sooner pulled the metal door open than there was a great whooshing sound from the next room and a harsh intake of air. The Drow reacted instinctively, throwing himself out of the line of fire, just before a explosion of fire erupted, the backdraft escaping out of the open door in a rush of flame. The door slammed shut with almost comical speed.

"Delayed fire trap," Delion explained, as he got to his feet. "The priest must have prepared for visitors. The good thing is, I don't think it will reset."

"But Sodalis definitely knows we're here. He's probably preparing worst things." Trey said, musing.

"Then let's not give him the chance!" Delion cried, approaching the door again.

"Wait a second!" Trey said, extending a hand, and Delion looked at him confused. "At least let me go first. These bracers," he tapped the small silver bracers around his wrists together twice, "give me a little protection against spells. If he throws another spell at us, I've got a better chance of resisting it."

"But I've got a better chance of avoiding it," Delion argued. "I've handled my share of wizards. Vampire wizards shouldn't be too different."

"Fine, fine!" Trey said, irritable. "We'll both go on together, let's just go!"

Shooting dirty looks at each other, the two opened the door and proceeded down the corridor. The hall was full of cobwebs, which they pushed past with no trouble, and at the end of the hall was a similar door. When they reached it, Delion stopped Trey from passing through.

"Hang on- trapped door." Delion stepped in front of Trey, kneeling down in front of the door and unsheathing one of his short swords. Delicately, he felt along near the bottom of the door, until, as if following some hidden sign, he leaned forward and sliced through something. When he stood up, Trey saw that a hidden wire in front of the door had been cut. The wire had been cleverly painted black, so as to better conceal it in the dark._ Close. Ki wouldn't have helped me at all. _Delion stood, sheathing his blade, and pushed the door open.

The room was similar in design to the previous one, except for two gargoyles perched forbiddingly near the exit. As they stepped into the room, the door closed shut behind them with a clicking sound. Trey turned the knob experimentally. Locked.

"Looks like we won't be going back that way," Delion said, tapping the door. "This one's a little too sturdy to knock down."

"And vhy vould you vant to leave?" questioned a voice behind them. The two whirled about, suddenly aware of a presence in the room, seeming to fill every corner of the room like frost on a windowpane. Sodalis stepped out from thin air, holding a strange-looking stave with a wyrmling's head attached to the top. The decapitated animal head somehow was alive, its tongue tasting the air and its horrible glassy eyes spinning. Sodalis grinned, his elongated canines causing his voice to sound different. Harsher, with an accent. "No one ever leaves _my _Church."

"Church!" Delion scoffed, spitting on the stone floor in defiance. "Faith is a choice, not a chain. If you're a priest, why do you need cells? Aren't your sermons enough?"

"The path of Vix'thra is not fit for mere mortals to tread!" Sodalis replied icily, and the wyrmling head hissed. "Becoming truly vorthy requires extra…aid. Some vere more villing than others."

"I don't believe _any_ of them were willing. Not when they saw how you were playing with those bones back in that other room."

"That vas necessary!" Sodalis bellowed, and Trey saw the canines in his mouth grow another inch. "Some of my clergy reacted differently to my…treatment."

"Treatment? You mean, sucking the blood out of them!" Delion cried, and Trey tensed. _Why is he getting so worked up? Is it a strategy, or is he really upset?_

"I don't hoff to explain myself to you! Die, heretics!" Sodalis screamed, pointing a finger at Delion. A thin ray of light lanced out from the vampire's finger, but Delion was too quick. He crouched low, and the ray of negative energy collided harmlessly into the far wall.

"Split up!" Trey shouted, running to his right, hoping to draw Sodalis' attention. Delion went left, drawing his short swords, his mouth twisted into a snarl. Sodalis' eyes flicked quickly from left to right, unsure of which target to attack. Choosing Delion as the bigger threat, he leveled his staff at the Drow, muttering words of evocation rapidly. The wyrmling head atop the staff hissed, and a beam of crimson light shot out from the wand itself. But just as Sodalis fired the spell, one of Trey's shurikens nicked his shoulder, ripping his fine robes and throwing off his aim. The curse missed Delion by an inch, thundering into a stone pillar and dissipating. Sodalis hissed in disappointment, turning to Trey. But just as the vampire began to muster the concentration for another spell, Delion attacked, sliding his blade easily into Sodalis' left lung.

"Easy!" Delion crowed in victory, but Trey was struck with a sudden sense of foreboding: Sodalis hadn't sagged in defeat; he looked almost pleased. The next moment, a bright circle of red light flared around the two combatants. Sodalis felt no ill effects, only a strengthening of his undead spirit. Delion, on the other hand, reeled backwards, his head spinning and his breath catching in his throat. It felt like an iron band had just closed around his neck. Sodalis turned, pulling the sword out his back absently, and swung his staff expertly. There was a sharp CRACK as the butt of the staff collided with Delion's chin. The Drow fell onto his back, flat on the floor like a stone. Sodalis calmly raised his stave high, which took on a reddish glow.

"Delion!" Trey cried, trying to warn the Drow. But he was too late; Delion couldn't have moved if he wanted to. An ethereal light in the shape of a huge grasping hand reached from out of nowhere, squeezing Delion in its grip. There was no physical pain, but Delion paled visibly. There was a horrible darkness in his head, and all of the strength in his body seemed to have been sapped away. The whites of his eyes rolled backwards, the last sight before he blacked out was Sodalis, grinning down at him.

Sodalis didn't move to finish off the fallen Drow, though. Before Trey could reach him, the vampire fled, running into the next room like an ambushed deer. Trey bent down next to Delion, checking for a heartbeat. _Still alive… steady heartbeat! But he looks so… _Delion's vital signs were fine, but he looked every inch a corpse.

_He must be cursed… Damn, this is bad. _The monk retrieved Delion's blade, some of the vampire's congealed blood still on the steel, and set it beside him. _Maybe Sodalis has something I can use to heal him. But how do I catch him?_

The answer came to him suddenly. He closed his eyes, concentrating and taking slow, deep breaths, trying to gather all of his Ki into himself. Then he exhaled slowly, pushing all his Ki through his pores, emptying his body like a pitcher of water. He opened his eyes and blinked, feeling a little exhilarated. The second great technique: _Vo-Ki. _

He bent low, stretching out both his legs systematically, his eyes locked on the figure in the next room. Sodalis was attempting to lure him into a trap. It didn't take the village idiot to suspect the gargoyles near the door of being trapped. Without Delion, there was no way to be sure. But if he didn't pursue the undead wizard, then Delion could die.

_I'll be back, Delion._ He promised, looking down at the graying face of the Drow. _He barely knew me, and he chose to help me. Is this what he gets? I won't allow it. I _can't _allow it._

Trey began to run forward, charging towards the exit. The effect of _Vo-Ki _was immediate and dramatic. Trey was pretty quick for a man his age, but his speed, through _Vo-Ki,_ was heightened to that of the fastest stallions. His legs pumped like pistons, but his footsteps made as much as sound as a feather falling on stone. As he passed by the gargoyles, he heard a small click! from above him. Instinctively, Trey ducked low, not even slowing down. He was just in time to avoid being sliced in two by thick blades, which jutted out from the upper half of the doorway like dragon teeth.

_Such speed! That's no ordinary human. _Sodalis quickly recovered from his surprise at seeing his trap fail in catching his intended prey. He began murmuring incantations under his breath, his staff waving hypnotically. But when a bolt of lightning shot out from the tip of the wand, Trey was already out of the way.

"Too slow!" Trey taunted, leaping over a ray of negative energy. The monk turned on his heel, coming directly at the vampire, preparing to strike him down. But when his fist lashed out to attack, he only met air. Sodalis had disappeared in a cloud of white smoke just before impact, and reappeared on the other side of the room. The undead hurled magical daggers of frost at the monk, but Trey rolled to the side, sensing the attack.

Twice more he tried to attack Sodalis. But each time, just before he could hit him, Sodalis would teleport away to a different spot. _Vo-Ki _was a technique focusing on speed, unlike _Ba-Ki, _which focused on strength. But they were similar in that they required a great amount of Ki and focus to maintain, and Trey could feel his flagging. _He's too fast. I've got one more shot…_

Trey stopped short, breathing hard, desperation creating a plan on the spot, and dug a hand into his bag of holding on his belt. Sodalis stopped in the middle of his spell, thinking that his opponent had given up.

"Too vast for you?" Sodalis gloated. " Now you can see the true power that comes with vorshipping Vix'thra! It's not too late to change your mind, you know. Pervaps you vill be viser than your Drow friend."

The human didn't reply, but Sodalis saw his something in his eyes harden. This one would resist until the end; he would not see the light. _Such a shame._ Sodalis thought. _These two **did **defeat my personal guard. They'll make an excellent gift to the Valsharess. Perhaps that will keep her from complaining over the lack of undead in her ranks. For a while, anyhow._

"Very well. Come then, see the power of Vix'thra!" Sodalis challenged. Already, he was mentally reciting the words of activation for another spell. The monk charged forward again, so fast that it was difficult for the vampire's eyes to keep up. But he was immortal, and his powers far exceeded that of a lowly human.

The monk faked left, then stepped smoothly to the right, waiting for his spell. It was no matter. _I've got you! Vaxerai!_ He twirled his staff in a quick circle, before pointing it at the spot the monk would end up. And that was when it happened. The monk raised a hand that he had been hiding behind his back while he had ran. Sodalis recognized the item as a shuriken, but it was too late to do anything about it. The projectile was a silver blur as it flew through the air, almost perfect in its flight, until it sliced through the wyrmling head on the staff cleanly.

Trey grinned triumphantly, allowing his Ki to flow back into his body. "That was for my Drow friend. May you never stain the face of this earth again."

_Oh…_Sodalis thought, but that was as far as he got. The wyrmling head dropped to the floor like a limp rag, the necromantic spells keeping it alive unwinding. The staff head, exposed, sparked and sputtered like the fuse of a firecracker. The wyrmling head served to augment and direct whatever spell the user cast. Without the head, there was no place for the magic to exit. With no other place to go, the spell rebounded on the caster and imploded, shattering the staff in a blast of light and arcane flame.

Trey threw himself to the ground, and it was lucky he did. The resulting blast of light might have blinded him otherwise. But even over the cacophony of noise from the magical blast, he could hear the sound of Sodalis' high, echoing scream of pain. The spell was burning hair, shattering bone, warping the features of his face… it must have been agonizing beyond imagination.

Finally, the explosions ended, leaving his eardrums rattled and ringing. He raised his eyes cautiously, not knowing what to expect. A scorch mark in the shape of a stick was all that remained of the staff. And Sodalis…

Sodalis was gone. All that remained of him were the clothes he had been wearing, and a small silver key. The latter Trey pocketed without a second thought. _The robes should have been incinerated in the blast. But instead… _It was as if he had teleported right out of his clothes. Like he had just…

_Gone up in smoke. _

There was no time to ponder on the matter though. If Sodalis survived, then he would take him down again. He had to find a way to help Delion, and swiftly.

Trey searched the room in a frenzy, pulling thick manuscripts off of the bookcases and rummaging through desk cabinets. Finally, he came up with a tattered, but useable lesser restoration spell. The writing on the scroll was faded, and stained with a substance Trey didn't care to think about. He shoved it into his pocket and sprinted back the way he came.

"I'm back, Delion!" Trey cried, as he entered the room swiftly and came to Delion's side. "Lucky for you-" He cut off in midsentence, horrified by what he was seeing.

Delion looked nothing like the healthy, tattooed Drow he had first met. His skin had taken the gaunt, sallow look of a sickly man on his deathbed. The eyes that rolled up to his face were blank and bloodshot. He suddenly looked very small, and very weak. Even his aura had taken on a black-gray cast the color of pitch. _Still alive, barely._

Trey didn't waste any more breath on comfort. Immediately, he pulled the scroll from his pocket and began to recite, slowly and carefully. He couldn't afford to make a mistake. His heart was pounding in his ears, threatening to come flying out of after every beat.

"…_Resis el garai!" _Trey finished, and stood back to watch the effects. There was no flash of light, or puff of smoke, but the color visibly returned to Delion's face. His skin no longer seemed so loose and wan, his eyes no longer so red and veined. Yet, even as Delion shakily stood up, refusing Trey's arm, it was obvious that he was not well.

"Trey," Delion rasped, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I can still feel something… working through me. I think…"

"Don't say it." Trey said, picking up one of Delion's blades and handing it to him. The Drow absently sheathed the sword, his heart not really in it. Trey had hushed him, but that didn't hide the truth. The spell Sodalis had cast upon him had a second effect, working even though he was alive.

He could feel himself becoming one of them. The vampires.

_Hope you enjoyed it. This one took a while, but it's all good._


	15. Descent

_Witchwolf: Ah, nice catch. I should have known better about the darkvision thing, but I mostly play humans in Neverwinter Nights, so what can you do? ;) As for the scrolls… Sodalis used to taunt his victims. Potential vampires would be given the scroll and believe they could escape their fate, only to discover that it was too weak. Of course, it loses its effect if no one can read it, so the scroll was written in Common. (And if you still don't believe that… monks can cast lesser restoration in the game, can't they:) And Delion… what can I say? I just write down what the mind dreams up, there's no control there. Will he become a vampire? I'm not telling._

_Charlie: Happy (belated) b-day! I purposely leave both Trey and Alain's ages vague, but at the time of Alain's war story, he was in his late teens, which makes his present age somewhere in the early 20's. _

_Ah, such dedicated reviewers. Brings a tear to my eye._

_Enjoy._

Chapter 15

The room was silent as several Drow filed in, each taking a seat around a circular table, crafted out of stone. Among these Drow were the Seer, Matron Myrune, Tebimar, Valen, Imloth, Nathyrra, and several lieutenants, both Mae'vir and followers of Eilistraee. Last of all came Alain. The air was thick with tension, as members of each respective side glared at each other (except for the Seer, who seemed immune to such things). Which side should speak first? Who was dominant here? Wishing to keep the meeting neutral, Alain spoke first, seeing as how he was the only human.

"The leaders of both rebel groups have been called together to discuss our strategy," Alain said, clearing his throat. All Drow eyes on the Mae'vir eyes rotated to him, now making him the focus of their dislike. Ignoring them, Alain continued, "We have received word from our scouts that the army of the Valsharess is less than five days away. Currently, they are awaiting their allies, which will congregate at that spot, before continuing towards us."

"How large is their army?" asked the Mae'vir commander, a swarthy Drow named Harona.

Alain sighed, lowering his eyes to stare at the rough stone surface of the table. "We estimate about five hundred Drow, not including their allies. In total, about eight hundred."

A wave of muttered whispers rolled down the table as the information was processed, digested and calculated. The rebels had about a hundred fifty Drow, armed with weapons and armor of dubious quality. The Valsharess' army was made up of ruthless killers of many races, all equipped with the best armor that could be plundered/bought. Needless to say, the odds weren't in their favor.

When Myrune spoke, all whispers ceased. "Is there any chance of escape?" she asked, and when Alain eyed her, scrutinizing, she added quickly "So that we can regroup, find some more allies?" _I'm sure that's what you want. _Alain thought. _Just trying to save your worthless hide._

"There are no more allies to call, Myrune," the Seer replied serenely. "I am afraid that there will be no more running?" Myrune didn't reply, but there was a look in her eyes Alain didn't like. He knew that, if she was given the opportunity, she would quickly defect during any "regrouping" and damn anyone else.

"There will be no escape," Valen said flatly. "There were escape tunnels installed in the back of Lith My'athar, but they have been destroyed, just this morning. Every tunnel is sealed tight with tons of rock, which was detonated by a few kegs of alchemist fire."

Once more, a ripple of whispers went down the table. "Why would you do such a thing?" demanded Tebimar "Do we not have a choice in the matter?"

Before Alain could reply, Imloth, with a scowl on his face, retorted angrily, "No, you don't have a choice. I know how willing _you_ would be to sell us all out if there was a chance to defect."

Tebimar sputtered, enraged at the commander's nerve. "Why would I entrust my life to a soldier who hasn't won a single battle?"

"Because we are the best chance you have," Valen said silkily. "And if you think you can do a better job leading the troops, by all means, enlighten me."

Tebimar muttered something unintelligible and lowered his eyes quickly. Whatever else he may have been, he was not foolish enough to provoke the tiefling. Word spread quickly of Valen's ferocious temper. As skilled as Tebimar was, his strength was nothing compared to the half-demon's.

"There is no cause a soldier will fight more fiercely for than his life," Valen continued. "By cutting off our escape, our soldiers will be encouraged to fight their hardest- because if they don't, they're dead. There won't be any 'regrouping.'"

No one could deny the logic of Valen's words. All the same, Alain noticed Myrune's eyes narrow. Was she angry at Valen's words, about regrouping? Or is it because she had just lost of her options? _I can't believe Trey was fooled by _this _snake, _Alain thought angrily. It was all he could to keep from leaping across the table and throttling her on the spot. Because of her selfishness, she almost caused the death of his teacher.

"So just what is our strategy?" Harona demanded, leaning forward. "All the evidence seems to suggest surrender."

"There can be no surrender," the Seer said implacably, shaking her head. "However, we have concocted a strategy, that may prove effective. Alain, if you please…?"

"Of course, Seer," Alain said, making brief eye contact with Valen. Here was the critical point. "We have several traps set up around the area. Most notably, we plan to make use of the several stalactites of in this area, along with our own tunnels, which leads from the camp into the battlefield. A small amount of firecrackers are placed along the mouth of the tunnel, while the stalactites are wired with alchemist fire."

"What do you plan to do with them?" Tebimar asked, his voice scornful. Alain noticed Myrune watching him closely, almost hungrily. _Good. _

Valen, at Alain's gesture, began to explain. "The firecrackers will be set off, and the ensuing noise and light will be off to startle the enemy. Our troops will be stationed just out of sight, beneath the tunnel, and burst out in the chaos. At the same time, the kegs of alchemist fire will detonate from above, causing the stalactites to rain down among the enemy."

"And what about after the enemy recovers from that? Our troops will be surrounded and outnumbered," Harona reasoned.

"By then, our troops will have pulled back into the tunnels," Alain explained. "If our enemy attempts to follow (and they will) then a second keg of alchemist fire will explode, sealing the tunnel off. We can't hope to win with this plan, but it should significantly reduce their numbers, with little loss of life on our side."

There was silence on the Mae'vir side. Then, rather crossly, Harona said, "Is that _all _we can do?"

"No, that's part one," replied Alain. "Next, our forces will drop back to the inner gate, leaving our outer gate unprotected."

"Are you mad!" Tebimar exclaimed. "Why should we do that?"

"Still your tongue long enough to find out," Nathyrra said harshly. "Such obvious bait will make the Valsharess wary, and she will hold her troops back, leaving them open to our archers. But when she _does_ break her way into the courtyard, then the next phase will begin."

"What is it? What is your next plan?" Myrune questioned, almost anxiously.

"The outer gate will be detonated from the inside, using explosives. This will cut the Valsharess' army into two: one inside the courtyard, and the rest outside. Once that is done, the second batch of explosives attached to the stalactites above will blow, crushing our enemy beneath them. Then, we will open the second gate and mop up any survivors. In this way, we hope to wipe out at least half of their company."

"And the shattered outer gate creates a barricade against the rest of their army." Valen added.

"Well," Myrune said after a short silence, "I must say that this plan is quite…ingenious." She was almost smiling as she said this, almost gleeful, and Alain could only imagine what she was thinking. "If there is nothing else…" she stood up, ready to leave.

"Of course," the Seer agreed. "We will contact you if there is anything else."

"Please do," Myrune replied, smiling. She exited the room hastily, followed closely by her subjects. After a few moments, the Seer and her company, along with Alain, followed. Both groups left the meeting thinking that they had been in control.

Myrune was quite pleased with the recent turn of events. She had dispatched an emissary to the Valsharess only a few days ago, and now the entire rebel plan had fallen into her lap, a veritable jewel of information that she could dole out as she saw fit. She had absolutely no qualms over her defection; her sense of self-preservation was much stronger than any ties of loyalty. 800 vs. 150? There was no chance at all, and only a fool wouldn't attempt to escape defeat.

Alain left the meeting just as satisfied. Myrune would play her role as a doomed spy extremely well, as long as she attempted contact with the Valsharess. Just about everything she had been told at the meeting was a lie. Valen had told them that the Valsharess' army was closer to five hundred, than eight hundred, probably a little less. There _were_ tunnels beneath the field, but if the opponent chose to enter them, then they would quickly be buried alive, as the tunnels had been dug very recently. It had been Valen's idea to leave the outer gate open to the enemy, his inspiration being Alain's story of Breakwood, but Alain did not know why. Valen had reassured him that there was a reason for leaving the courtyard open though, and Alain trusted him.

_I only wonder if Algaricciragla will show himself soon. He's the only help we will have, if he hasn't betrayed us too. _

Valen, who had lagged behind to speak with the Seer, caught up with Alain. "The meeting went well," he said evenly.

Alain nodded, glancing around for anyone listening in. "Yes."

"Do you think she'll take the bait? Nathyrra doesn't believe she will."

"I know…it doesn't matter," Alain said, shaking his head. "Either way, she's a doomed spy."

"What makes you think that?"

"If she defects, then she passes on false information, giving us the chance to catch her in the act of betrayal. If the Valsharess chooses to welcome her to their side, we will declare her as the spy, and the Valsharess will kill her for us." Any anger of feelings of revenge that still lingered had by now disappeared. Such thoughts seemed unbecoming of a monk. _Ill feeling grows until it consumes us,_ he thought.

"It's almost funny how things work out," Valen said, musing to himself. Alain looked at him sharply.

"What's funny?"

"If Trey hadn't confronted Myrune, then it's unlikely that we would have ever found out about her deceit until it was too late. So, even though he may be in great danger, he still found a way to help."

Alain didn't find the idea of Trey in trouble too amusing. Still, Valen had a point. His teacher had stepped back from the foreground, had tried to give him room to grow… but even so, he had not abandoned him to the title of 'Savior.'_ We might have all been murdered in our sleep if not for him,_ Alain thought.

"Speaking of which," Valen said, lowering his voice. "How is he doing? Can you still sense him?"

Alain closed his eyes, his breathing slowed, and he appeared to be listening to some inner voice. Valen waited patiently, a little fascinated in spite of himself. At last, the monk opened his eyes again.

"Trey is still alive," Alain said quietly, "but in distress. Something is happening, wherever he is."

"Alain," Valen began, locking his steely blue eyes on his, "my offer still stands. There is still time to leave camp to look for him, and return before the Valsharess reaches here."

Alain smiled, but shook his head. He knew how much the tiefling wanted to stay at camp, to try and prepare the best he could for the coming onslaught. Volunteering to leave the camp must have seemed an almost cowardly act. Yet, he would still leave in a second, if only to help him. _Valen, you sure have changed. _It was hard to determine the exact point when Valen had stopped seeing him as "the monk" and started seeing him as "Alain."

"I appreciate your offer, but again, I will have to decline. I feel that Trey needs us to be here. After all, think of what we have accomplished: we've gained a new ally while discovering a traitor."

Valen wondered. That didn't sound too impressive, and _had_ they really gained a new ally? There were reports of a strange creature to the north of the camp, but if it was Algaricciragla, why wasn't he showing himself? And what if Myrune discovered their true strategy? If you discounted what he and Alain had done, all that Lith My'athar had really gained were two monks. Powerful, strange monks, yes, but still only two. What could two do against an army?

"Do not worry," Alain comforted, misinterpreting his friend's mood. "As good as I am, Trey is even better. He _is _my teacher, after all. I have no doubt that he will return in time."

But deep down, Alain wasn't so sure. Through the _Ki-link, _he had a vague idea of Trey's location, but nothing definitive. His information was like trying to identify a shadow behind a curtain: he couldn't see the whole picture. One thing he was sure of though: Trey was having problems.

The two split in different directions, each having different duties to attend to: Valen, to look after Imloth's troops in training; Alain, to gauge for any weaknesses in the environment around the camp. Before going to meet the gate captain though, Alain went to the forge, the only place for quality armor and weapons in the camp.

"Rizolvir, how's business?" Alain asked, spotting the weapon smith hunched over the glowing core of his forge. Rizolvir's forge was certainly the most fantastic forge Alain had ever seen. Most smiths used molds and heat to create a blade from molten steel. Rizolvir's forge wasn't used to create weapons, but enhance or enchant them. How that was exactly accomplished, Alain wasn't sure. Long, colorful pipes in twisting shapes protruded from the top of the forge, which released colored smoke at intervals. The forge's operation relied on gold; Rizolvir was an artist as well as a smith, and his commission went directly into his work. Mere metal could not power such a magical device, instead, it was powered by the value of gold to the customer. The flames in a normal forge were often produced by coal. The flames in Rizolvir's forge never went out, and stranger still, anything removed from the fire would cool almost instantly. The only downside was that Alain didn't possess a single weapon which could withstand the heat in that forge.

"No better than usual," said Rizolvir, scowling. "So many wonderful weapons, and no one to buy them! Now, if you want to abandon that hand-to-hand nonsense…"

"No, I think not," Alain said with a grin. Rizolvir commented at least ten times a day on the fact that Alain had no other weapons than his hands. The idea of fighting without a blade was ridiculous to him. "But seeing how your forge has no other use right now… I have a job for you."

"What is it then?" Rizolvir asked, his curiosity piqued.

Alain outlined his plans quietly, hoping that the roar of the flames would hide their voices from any unfriendly listeners. When Alain finished, Rizolvir looked at him doubtfully, scratching his chin.

"What you want requires a lot of gold, my friend. It can be done, but… can you foot the bill?"

Alain responded by pulling off one of his satchels from his belt. It was small, made out of fine silk and utterly unimpressive. The monk turned it upside-down and gave it a few hard shakes. Nothing came out, and Rizolvir smothered a laugh behind one of his hands. Alain ignored him and shook harder. The bag seemed to squeeze together of its own accord, shrinking to the size of a balled fist; then, hundreds of gold coins flowed out of the bag like a tidal wave, far more than what the bag could contain. The coins piled up in a sand dune at Alain's feet.

"Is that enough?" Alain asked innocently, closing the bag and re-attaching it to his belt.

"M-more than enough," Rizolvir managed to say, his eyes bulging. "How did you get so much gold? No, never mind- I don't need to know. When do you need this done?"

"As soon as possible," Alain said crisply. "It's crucial to your survival, so I know I can trust you to move quickly." He turned to leave, but just as the smith began to shovel the coins into the forge, he turned back.

"What is it? Another rush order?" Rizolvir panted, pushing another armful of gold into the furnace.

"No, nothing like that," Alain said sheepishly. He poured a handful of shuriken from his bag, the very last of his supplies. "Could I have a few more of these?"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Delion's body trembled, as he forced himself to climb to his feet. A fit of violent coughing struck him, and he hunched over, hacking it out of his lungs in shallow, tortured breaths. The inside of his mouth was dry, his tongue was a carpet stuck to the roof of his mouth. Trey gave him his hand, and Delion was relieved to see that he felt no sudden desire to sink his teeth into the monk. At least, not yet.

"I don't understand," Trey said, frustrated. "Why didn't the scroll work? He didn't even _bite _you! How could…" he trailed off, but Delion knew what he was going to say. _How could I be transforming into a vampire?_

"He likes doing it like this," Delion replied hoarsely. If only he could have some water! He was so thirsty. "He does this to his victims."

"How do you know that?" Trey demanded, but Delion ignored him. He didn't rightly know that himself, but it was said knowledge came at a terrible price. What more could you pay with, than your life?

"It's not the bite that turns someone into a vampire. It's the forced draining of their life-energy." _Ki again, _Trey thought. _Sodalis has no aura, so it only makes sense that he would steal it. _

"Sodalis did this to his victims," Delion repeated, speaking slowly, and with effort. His vision seemed to be dimming; Trey's face was growing slightly fuzzy. No matter. He didn't care to know why. "He would drain them, taunt them with those," he pointed to the scroll Trey was holding, "but of course it didn't matter. In the end, he always turned someone to his faith."

"The spell's too weak, is that it?" Trey said. "We'll just leave the temple and find a cleric. If we remove the spell, then the effects should be reversed before they become permanent."

"No," Delion said adamantly, though his voice trembled a bit. "We can't leave."

"Why not?" Trey nearly shouted. _This is beyond my means to heal, and I doubt we'll find anything in this temple to reverse the transformation. _

"Because," Delion replied steadily, "if we leave now, then the opportunity to help the Seer will pass."

"I don't understand you," Trey said, but Delion remained silent, knowing that Trey _did _understand. If they left the temple now, there would be no way to get back inside. Sodalis would return, and not even another Ceremony would get him to open the temple doors. At least, not for a while. But if they _didn't _leave the temple, then Delion would surely…

Trey cursed bitterly, spitting on the stone floor. Now he truly saw the extent of Sodalis' cruelty. _He wants me to destroy my own companion, with my bare hands. Either that, or leave the Temple, and fail in my mission. _

"Delion, you've got to leave. I can handle this on my own, but if you wait too long… The spell's effects will become permanent."

"I won't leave," Delion said firmly. "I can't. I said that I would help you, and I never go back on my word."

"Stop being stubborn. This isn't about your oath, it's about your life!"

Delion squared his jaw, his face set, and crossed his arms. "The more time we waste arguing, the less time we have. Let's do what we have to do, Trey." With that, the Drow turned and left the room without a look back. Trey sighed and followed after him. It wasn't a matter of pride, was it? Typical Drow were shifty sorts, who would shake your hand just as soon as stab you in the back. Delion was anything but ordinary.

He means to follow me, even suffering as he is. His belief in his cause is greater than his own life.

The two descended to the ground floor quickly, but they needn't have worried. If there was anyone else in the Temple, they had either gone to the lower levels or left, and the silence was eerie, but also welcome. The small key Trey had picked up off of Sodalis fit perfectly, and the lower level seemed to be even worse than the upper levels: that creeping sense of evil, that _presence_ seemed to pervade the atmosphere even more so.

"We're not alone," Delion rasped faintly, when Trey commented on the disturbing lack of sound. But when Trey asked him to elaborate, the Drow would say no more. The corners of his eyes were glittering strangely, and Trey wondered if Delion could see something he did not.

The next room was empty, except for a large pit in the center of the room. The darkness was almost complete, and Trey could barely make out his hand in front of his face, much less the bottom of the hole. Delion's vision was better, because of his ultravision, but even he couldn't pierce the impenetrable darkness of the hole. Trey rubbed the magical crystal he kept in his bag, summoning a portable container of light, and peered down into the pit.

"This is obviously the way we must go," Trey noted, tossing a pebble into the dark. After what seemed a long amount of time, he heard the echoing crack as the pebble landed on the floor far below. "But how do we get down?"

"Maybe that rope might help," Delion commented sarcastically. Even in the dark, Trey saw, he did not look at all well. His eyes looked oddly glassy, and his hands shook slightly, as if feeling some change in temperature the rest of his body did not.

"That doesn't make sense…" Trey said, picking up the coil of rope, which lay near the edge of the pit. He hadn't noticed it a second ago. And if the rope was up here, how did anyone at the bottom of the hole get to the top? _So many questions, and no one to answer them. But soon, someone will. Just as soon as I can them,_ Trey thought to himself.

The monk tied a loop of rock securely around a small hook jutting from the edge of the pit, specially made for that purpose, and tossed the rope down into the pit. Delion insisted on going down first, while Trey, hoping that the warrior had the strength remaining to keep a good grip on the rope, followed. They lowered themselves into the darkness for an interminable amount of time, the only sound being the rough scrape of cloth on rope and their harsh breathing. Finally, just when Trey felt he couldn't hold on any longer, his foot touched solid ground.

Oddly enough, the bottom of the pit wasn't cloaked in darkness; large torches with bluish flames hung from the walls at intervals along the room. Before they had any time to look around, a door Trey hadn't noticed opened, and a man wearing strange-looking robes came out. They were similar to his own clothes, and he guessed that the man must be a monk.

_Not a man,_ Trey corrected. There was no aura surrounding the person, which meant another undead. Another vampire. Automatically, Trey glanced at Delion, half-expecting to see the Drow lunge at him with a mouthful of teeth.

No such thing happened. Delion looked a little unsteady on his feet, a little surprised, but that was all.

"A volunteer," the vampire crooned, walking into the light. "A human volunteer, devoted to Vix'thra. Are you ready to show your faith?" It licked its pale lips hungrily, and Trey noticed with some dismay that its eyes hadn't even flicked towards Delion. _Does it only see me as prey? Has Delion already crossed over?_

Apparently the same thought had crossed Delion's mind. "We've come to destroy this place, and your brotherhood. You would do well to view us as a threat!"

The vampire cocked its head to one side, looking at Delion with a confused expression. "What are you talking about, brother? Wait-who are you!" the vampire cried, growing alarmed.

"Don't call me brother!" Delion snarled, unsheathing his blades and charging the undead. Trey quickly followed after the Drow, pulling a few shuriken from his pocket and launching them at the vampire with his usual speed. Recovering from his shock, the vampire snatched them out of mid-air effortlessly just as Trey or Alain might have done. Just as swiftly, he threw the projectiles at the approaching Drow, who parried them with a few quick movements of his blade.

_I forgot. _"Be careful, Delion! He's a monk, like me!" Trey cried, but Delion had already engaged the vampire in combat. His bright blades lashed out, aiming for vital points, but were blocked at each turn by the vampire's skilled fingers. Each deadly blow was successfully turned astray. Delion put more force into his blows, growing frustrated at the vampire's cool eyes and grinning face.

"Hah!" he cried triumphantly, as he lopped off the vampire's left hand with a well-aimed swing. The vampire never paused, instead, it swung out with his opposite hand, palm open, driving it into the side of the Drow's head. Delion staggered back, his temple throbbing.

Before the vampire could make good on his counterattack though, Trey leapt in. With only one hand, the vampire was forced back by Trey's furious onslaught of jabs and kicks, giving Delion the time to recover.

_Now, _Trey thought, as he jammed the heel of his palm into the undead monk's jaw, exposing its neck. Delion lunged forward, pain forgotten, and swung his blade quickly. Trey could feel the wind from his swipe above his skin, and then the vampire's head was flying, landing with a hollow thump on the floor a few feet away. The gush of blood Trey expected never came. Instead, the vampire's body- even the head- began to rapidly decompose. Its pale skin melted into a jelly-like substance, which smelled terribly like old milk and cow dung. Its gaunt features oozed together like melting wax. Then, the jelly began to evaporate rapidly, heating up into smoke, instead of gas. To their surprise, the white smoke drifted past them like a living thing, under a door at the far end of the room. Delion reached the door first, only to find that it was locked.

"Out of the way," Trey ordered tersely, and when Delion obeyed, the monk took a breath, focusing his Ki in the center of his palm. Then he slammed the flat of his hand against the knob, which made a brittle shattering sound. When he moved away, the all that remained of the doorknob were a few metal shards.

"Quick," Trey said, with a note of urgency, and the two entered the next room. There, standing in front of a large sarcophagus, which was slightly ajar, was the vampire they had just defeated. And yet it was _not _the vampire. Their opponent had not looked healthy, but at least it resembled a human. What stood before them was the creature's true body, with all illusions and visual tricks cast away. An Elder vampire, one of the most powerful and feared of its kind. One of the very first.

Before, the vampire's features were that of a gaunt-looking young man. Now, his body was oddly twisted and wrinkled, sagging skin hanging off of a skeleton. It bared its fangs, which were yellow and jagged, all wickedly sharp. The undead's eyes were gone, the sockets were a greasy-looking black, with tiny specks of white peeking out like grains of rice: maggots, which squirmed and danced in the air. _What use are eyes in this darkness? _Trey thought dimly. _It has other ways of seeing us. _

"Outnumbered…" the vampire hissed, and Delion felt a chill run down his spine at the sound of its voice. Though the undead had no eyes, it seemed to make contact with Delion somehow…it was "looking" right at him. And then, like a malevolent spider that had crept in through some unknown entrance, he could hear the vampire's voice in his mind: _Aid me._

A mental command from a creature as strong as a vampire, especially an Elder, compels the victim to obey, and there are few in Toril with the will to resist. And yet, Delion did. His body tensed slightly, ready to spring into action, then- forcibly- he relaxed his muscles. It was an effort. He would _not_ turn on Trey, and he would _not_ perform the deed that would destroy his humanity.

_Aid me. _the Elder commanded again, imposing its considerable will on Delion's mind. The strain was nearly too great, and the Drow found himself taking a step forward towards Trey with a hand on his blade. Then, with every ounce of mental strength he could gather, he forced himself to still his hand. Trey turned, took one look at Delion's shaking hand and unsteady gaze, and understood what was happening.

"Leave him alone!" Trey cried, leaping forward and unleashing a volley of shuriken. Steel had no effect on so powerful a creature though, and the projectiles thudded harmlessly into the dead flesh of the vampire. All Trey succeeded in doing was getting the Elder's attention, but that was enough. The vampire plucked out a shuriken embedded in its throat and looked at Trey almost distastefully.

Trey wasn't discouraged so easily. He threw a left jab at the vampire to disorient it, then followed up with a foot to the midsection. The Elder didn't even rock back on its heels; and when Trey looked at his knuckles, he saw that it was free of the grime and dirt he had expected to see after touching the Elder. Had he even touched it at all?

"It's beyond your powers to harm me," the vampire rasped, before letting out a croaking laugh that sounded like bones grinding against each other. It flapped a hand at Trey, dismissing him, before looking at Delion again. _Leave me alone, so I can get back to work,_ Trey thought. _That's what it's saying. Time for step two._

The monk extended one hand in front of him, palm up, and bent his knees, assuming a defensive posture. He pushed the Ki circulating through his body into that hand, like pushing the sand on a beach into one huge mound. The aura around his palm flared up, signaling the amount of Ki stored there, and he set his feet, lining up with his target. With this much Ki, he could part skin, bone, metal, or stone like wet paper.

_Let's see you shrug _this _off. _He charged the Elder, his Ki-charged palm held behind as if it was a heavy weapon. Once again, the Elder didn't move, it was a silent, gruesome sentinel. Just one big target. He swung his hand in a chopping motion, with all of his body behind it, and this time he saw exactly what happened. A half-inch before the vampire's hip, his hand stopped dead. All his forward momentum, all his strength, just stopped cold in a second. Some unseen force was acting as a barrier for the vampire, negative energy perhaps. Whatever it was, it was definitely stronger than him.

"I told you: you can't even touch me," the vampire whispered, and now it's head was far closer than he cared for. A ghost of a breeze blew across his face, but before he could even wonder if he had imagined it, he was pushed back, thrown back from the vampire, crashing into a large wooden crate lined against the wall. The crate was empty, and it splintered, covering him in a pile of wood-shaving and leaving his back feeling raw and burning. He pulled himself a to sitting position, winded.

"This is thirsty work," the Elder cooed, standing over the fallen monk. "I think I'll let your friend open you up before I take my drink." It bared its fangs, and Trey saw that even the vampire's mouth was rotting: its tongue was the dead carcass of an animal, and its teeth were crumbling ruins. Only its incisors were intact, sharp and gleaming.

_Aid me! _ This time the mental command had the force of a rushing minotaur, and the last dregs of Delion's resistance crumbled. He rushed forward, his hands grasping and his mouth wide. His teeth weren't as large as the vampires, Trey saw, but they were enough. Just enough for Delion to damn himself.

The Drow leapt at him like a feral cat, but Trey was still quicker. When the Drow sprung into the air, to crush him down against the stone, Trey pressed a palm against his chest and released the Ki he had stored there. Delion flew backwards, the wild grace slapped out of him just that quickly. The elder barely noticed; in the time Trey had taken to counter Delion's attack, it was already moving forward. Desperate and fatigued, Trey groped for the first thing he could find on the floor. His fist closed on a dagger-like shape with rough texture, and he stabbed forward, the elder just a few feet away.

The flesh around the stake seemed to liquefy, before Trey recognized it as grains of sand. The vampire let out an unearthly scream, causing their eyes to water, before slowly dissolving into a pile of gray dust on the ground. The stake he was holding had shriveled up into a nub, and he dropped it on the ground quickly.

Delion clapped his hands over his ears, trying to block out the piercing quality of the scream, then started; like a man who has just awoke from a very vivid dream- or nightmare- suddenly.

"What did I… what did you do?" Delion asked, putting a hand to his mouth. Normal teeth, everything the same size it had been before… or was it? The past was hazy, but the present was even worse.

"I believed," Trey said simply. But it was more than that. The force that had allowed him to use only a piece of wood to kill such a powerful vampire was stronger than any magic. "Ironic that the only thing that could have harmed it was on the floor behind us all along."

"How do you feel? That thing tried to get you to…" Trey trailed off, gesturing to his naked neck instead. Delion got the point. The vampire had dominated him, and forced entry into the mind could be harmful to the victim.

"I'm fine" he lied. Mentally he was fine; his mind didn't feel any differently than before he had entered the Temple. What was more disturbing was that his will had not been strong enough to resist the Elder's urging. Perhaps it was because his condition was worsening. His normally hawk-like sight was now fuzzier, even the light seemed gray, and he saw shadows everywhere. His mouth was parched, like he had lined his throat with a glass of fine powder. But it was not a thirst that water would quench. Not at all. "Let's grab a few more of these stakes," he said, grabbing a few pieces of wood off of the floor.

The two knelt down on the floor, stuffing their bags with as many of the intact stakes as they could. Both looked over their shoulders at intervals. Trey couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching them. For Delion, this was not just a feeling, but a certainty: his sight might be going, but somehow, a different sort of vision was improving. The flickering shadows seemed to gain solidity with every second, but maybe that was just his imagination.

"What's this?" Trey asked, his eyes catching a glimmer buried in the remains of the vampire. Thinking it unwholesome to touch the dust with his bare hands, he pushed some of the sand away with a stray piece of plywood. Beneath the sand was a small orb, glowing brightly. Trey plucked it out of the sand gingerly, and hissed between his teeth, almost dropping the ball. It was very hot, like bottled lightning.

"I saw a depression like that back in the other room. Maybe it's a kind of key," Delion said. As they walked back into the room at the base of the pit, he realized that the orb was another kind of irony. Why would creatures of darkness make light their key? It didn't make sense, and maybe that was why they had done it.

The orb fit into the space smoothly, and the door clicked, unlocking automatically. Trey pushed the door open and pulled out the orb again. The torches that had been so abundant in the temple so far were not present in the room beyond; it was as if the lighter of the torches had only gone so far before turning back out of fear. The only light came from a large monolith set in the center of the room, which crackled and buzzed with some strange energy. Delion guessed it was the same energy that was contained within the orb. Directly ahead, and to the east and west, were doors, each with a depression next to it.

The western door had one depression, the eastern, two, and the northern, three. Engraved in the northern door were strange runic symbols similar to those inscribed on the gong outside the Temple.

"My guess is that this is where the answers lie," Trey said, tracing the runes with one finger. "That priest mentioned Vix'thra: maybe this is where he lives?"

Delion nodded. "I can feel him," he said, and Trey looked at him sharply. "He's some kind of god to them. Divine or not, he's definitely a force to be reckoned with."

"Unholy, you mean. Nothing divine could do this," Trey corrected, looking at the runes more closely. When he was satisfied, he looked at Delion again. "Do you know what kind of creature this Vix'thra is?"

As Delion shook his head, he was seized with a pounding pain at the base of his skull. But as he lifted his hands to his head, the pain was gone just as quickly.

"What's wrong?" Trey asked urgently.

"Nothing…" Delion said, resisting the urge to rub the back of his head. His skull ached numbly, as if someone had swung a warhammer at the back of his head. What had happened?

"Don't lie to me, Delion. I might be able to help."

"It's _nothing,_ Trey. Just an itch," Delion lied. But it was far worse than that. The force behind this door was malevolent; it had sensed his taint, and touched him. _It feels like my transformation has sped up. _No need to tell Trey though: it would only add another worry to a long list, and Delion was determined to show to show that even at his worst, he was not a burden. _It will be over soon. Whatever Vix'thra is, we'll beat it._

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Cold.

Not _extreme_ cold, but just-cold-enough cold. Cold that saps your health, stealing life and warmth from your body with each passing second, a cold that buries itself into your skin and pops up in a storm of tiny goosebumps. Cold that makes your teeth-chatter and knees shake, clammy cold caressing the back of your neck like the unhappy dead, beckoning you to the Great Beyond. Cold that you can feel in the very pit of your bones, that seems to make your eyes quiver in their sockets like freakish gelatin.

It wasn't the temperature that really bothered Lavoera, though. Nor did the insubstantial spider web of negative energy stretched across her skin, pinning her wings and forcing her into a sitting position. Even the leering faces of the vampiric priests had little effect on her. She was a deva, a celestial being from the Upper Planes, and though she was unused to pain, it did not affect her the same as it might affect a human.

No, the thing that was _really_ wearing on the mind was the fact that her mission was surely a failure. Why was she here? Her superiors had sent her not to some lovely plain on a bright summer day, or to the frigid, yet peaceful hills of the Silver Marches. She had not been sent to the surface at all; instead, she had found herself in the dark, miles below the surface. But even that could not puncture her nearly unstoppable optimism. Sure, she was a messenger who didn't know where to deliver her message, and she was utterly alone on the Material Plane, but what did that matter?

_This was supposed to be fun, _she thought morosely, reflecting on her capture, which seemed to have happened decades ago. She had sensed there was something wrong almost immediately on her arrival in Drearing's Deep. The little village was deserted, and the temple on the hill had given off a palpable aura of evil. Naturally, she had entered the temple, and had been set upon by vampires almost at once. They came like moths to candlelight, and in the end there had been too many. She had felled many with her mace, but one had snuck up behind her and struck her down, a cowardly, slinking move only worthy of vampires. When she regained consciousness, she had found herself trapped.

Her knees trembled, and she squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the wave of exhaustion which washed over her, a sudden but not unknown sensation that had struck her since her imprisonment. _What am I going to do? _she thought for the hundredth time, and a few tears trickled down her cheek, obscuring her vision. _How am I- _

She stopped in mid-thought, listening hard. Yes! There were approaching footsteps coming towards her, and she nearly swooned at the sound. The footsteps grew louder and quicker. They must be in a hurry.

She raised her head, strengthened by the knowledge that, if today was her day to die, she would not do it like this. "If you're going to kill me, then do it quickly!" she spat, her green eyes blazing despite her tears. "I won't…" she began, but then she blinked and stopped in mid-sentence. Instead of the pale faces she expected to see, she saw instead two males, one human, one Drow.

The Drow was clearly unwell; she could catch the stink of his sickness even in her weakened state. He had been infected, tainted by the vampires; their disease was practically crawling all over his skin. Despite the obvious pain he must be suffering, there was still a gleam of defiance in his eye, an obvious sign of his resistance against his ailment. And, surprisingly, she saw no evil intention in his heart. _But I thought Drow were supposed to be evil? I guess this one is an exception. _

The human was healthy, except for a few scrapes and bruises around his upper chest. Obviously he had had better luck than his companion in fending off the vampires. In his right hand he clutched a glowing orb, which he placed in a small bag on his belt as they approached her prison. Goodness, pure and intense, shone from the depths of his heart, and Lavoera wondered how someone like him had fallen into the company of Drow. But all that was secondary.

"Free me!" Lavoera cried, struggling into a sitting position. This wasn't easy, as the cords of energy tightened painfully at the smallest movement, but somehow she managed. A few feathers fluttered free from her already tattered-looking wings.

The two stared at her; the human with speculation, the Drow with naked suspicion. Their surprise wasn't uncalled for. After running into crazed undead around every corner, finding a beautiful (if unnaturally pale) celestial being kneeling on the ground was hardly expected. Finally, the human asked, "How?"

"There's a rod- blood red- that slides into that slot on the machine," Lavoera explained, pointing at the strange-looking apparatus just outside of the web of energy. She remembered when she had first been captured, how the vampires had activated the machine, and then took the rod out, before first informing her that it was the cut-off switch. Typical of vampires, to tease and taunt their victims without mercy. "If you can find it, it will release this cage."

"You can't be serious!" the Drow exclaimed, his eyes narrowed. "This is another trap, Trey. Why would these abominations want to hold a… a…"

"A deva," Lavoera said quietly, ignoring the spasm of pain pulsing out from her tortured wings. "My name is Lavoera, and I was captured by them."

"My friend has a point, Lavoera," Trey said evenly. "If you are who you say you are, why were you captured? Why is a deva on the Material Plane?"

"I was sent to deliver a message," Lavoera said, though it was painful to admit. She would never be able to complete her mission now; there was a time limit she had to keep. If she couldn't deliver the message in one hour… "These awful vampires are draining me of blood… using it to create bone golems."

"So that's why you're so pale," Trey said, exchanging a glance with his companion. The Drow's expression had changed from suspicion to surprise quicker than a greased pig. Was it something she had said? "What do you think, Delion? Is she clear?"

"I don't know about that," Delion said slowly. "But if her story is true… Trey, that's where the Valsharess is getting their undead troops from! Bone golems are formidable, and hard to create, but with the blood of a deva…"

"By freeing her, we can stop the Valsharess from getting any more reinforcements," Trey prompted. Lavoera understood little of their exchange, but at the words "freeing her," her eyes lit up, and she looked at Delion expectantly. Delion looked at her and nodded, then he pulled a large, gray-black rod from one of his pockets. A blood-red ruby was encrusted in the handle, which glimmered strangely, resembling a lifelike version of a blood vessel. The key didn't seem to be made of iron or bronze, it looked more like bone.

"Like this?" Delion asked as he inserted the rod into an opening on the machine. The device, which had been humming steadily previously, now sputtered and backfired as if in pain. The crimson strands of energy flickered for a few moments, and Lavoera felt the painful binds around her body loosen slightly. Then the energy stabilized, and the cords regained their ruthless grip.

"Twist it to the left," Lavoera ordered, and as Delion obeyed, there was a great whooshing sound, like that of air escaping from a balloon quickly. The cage of negative energy flickered wildly before disappearing completely. Lavoera let out a wordless cry of pure joy as she leapt to her feet, her pain forgotten. The color seemed to return to her face almost at once, a great bloom of color in her cheeks. Her wings, one of which had been horribly twisted, shifted like some sort of snake, and both men could clearly hear the sounds of her bones reforming.

"How did you do that?" Trey asked, making a face and wondering if he really wanted to know the answer.

"I'm a hospitaler," Lavoera replied cheerfully. Her face looked completely different than how it had been a few minutes ago. Her pain and exhaustion had utterly dissipated, and her beauty, whether divine or otherwise, was obvious. It was a little intimidating. "Bone fractures and blood mean nothing to someone of my training."

"What's a hospitaler?" Delion asked, dumbfounded.

"It doesn't matter," Trey cut in. A thought had struck him without warning, and he decided to follow a hunch. "Lavoera, what was the message you were supposed to deliver?"

"Oh…" Lavoera sighed, her eyes downcast. "I was supposed to tell the man from the sands that his actions are being guided by an evil hand. But I suppose I'll never find him now. My mission is a complete failure. Stupid Lavoera!" she berated herself.

_The man from the sands…sounds like me, doesn't it?_ Trey thought. But that was ridiculous. There were thousands of "men from the sand" (which could only mean the Anarouch) just like him. Plus, that prophecy could be interpreted in a number of ways.

_But she's not talking to thousands of men. She's talking to _you, _she found _you. It was impossible not to heed that cold, logical voice in the depths of his mind, the voice that believed in fate, in Ki… that there were no coincidences. But even if the prophecy was true, who was the evil here?

_I'll think about it later. _For now, there were more important things to consider. This deva was some kind of cleric, so maybe… "Lavoera, my friend is sick. Do you think you can heal him?"

Lavoera brightened instantly, a large sunny smile lighting up her face. "Of course, I can cast a restoration spell in my sleep!"

Delion stepped up to her, feeling both apprehensive and relieved. He only hoped that the deva was as skilled as she claimed to be. It was hard to trust someone who seemed so… innocent. The deva closed her eyes, murmuring the incantations softly in some strange language that made his ears tingle. But as she placed a hand on his neck, the same sudden pain that had affected him before struck again. His head felt as if it was about to split, and he cried out in pain, slapping a hand to the back of his head. Lavoera cried out at the same time, quickly removing her hand from the Drow's chest.

"What's wrong? What happened?" Trey asked frantically, looking around for some unseen enemy. Lavoera looked genuinely confused, but Delion had a different expression on his face. Was it…recognition?

"Something blocked my spell!" Lavoera cried, befuddled. She held up her hand as proof, and they saw that there was a black scorch-mark on the base of her palm, where she had touched Delion. She waved her hand, and the burn was gone, healed instantly. "That's never happened before, I swear!"

"Calm yourself, it wasn't your fault," Delion said quickly, for it looked like Lavoera would burst into tears any second. He looked at Trey, who was watching him closely. "I had the same feeling as when we stood before that door… Vix'thra must have blocked the spell."

"Oh, so now you tell the truth…" Trey said evenly. When Delion didn't reply, he went on, "Even if we leave now, there won't be time to prevent your transformation before we get outside. So…"

"Right," Delion said with a nod. "We have to defeat Vix'thra first."

"_We_ can't do anything. Remember what happened to you with the first vampire?"

"Yes… so?"

"So what do you think will happen when you come face to face with that vampire's _god?_" Trey cried, a little exasperated. "You won't be able to help yourself- you'll turn against me the second we go in there!"

"What would you have me do!" Delion shouted back. "Let you go in there by yourself? You couldn't even touch that Elder back there!"

"Excuse me…" Lavoera said timidly, interrupting them. Delion and Trey, who had been glaring at each other fiercely, turned their gaze on her.

"_What!"_

"Um," Lavoera said, cringing a little at the sound of their voices. "Who's Vix'thra?"

The look on her face and the unexpected question doused their anger immediately, and the two men burst into laughter at the same time. Lavoera joined them with the uncertain hesitancy that comes when one does not understand the joke. When they finally calmed down, Trey quickly told her about Vix'thra, the cult, and their purpose there.

"So you two are here to stop the vampires from massing an army, which will join with this Valsharess person, who is marching on your base camp?"

"Yes, that pretty much sums it up," Delion replied.

Lavoera was quiet for a moment, obviously in deep thought. Then, she smiled, saying, "Sounds like fun! Can I help?"

"…Fun?" Delion asked.

"…Help?" Trey said.

The two looked at each other again, thought about laughing, and decided not to. The deva hadn't meant to be funny, it was just… how she was. But her offer gave Delion an idea.

"Actually, Lavoera, that's a good idea," Delion said, ignoring Trey's dumbfounded look. "We have just one more enemy to fight before we're finished here, and I think that with your help, we might have a chance."

"Yeah!" Lavoera cried happily. "I'll smite any undead I find! Only…" her face fell, "I don't have my weapon, my specially made mace."

"You mean this?" Trey asked, pulling out a heavy mace from his bag of holding. The mace had a golden head, and strange flowing words inscribed along the handle. "We found this in one of the chests around here."

"My weapon!" Lavoera exclaimed joyfully, taking the mace from him and giving it an experimental swing. _How much of a fighter can she be?_ Delion wondered. _She seems so childish. But at any rate, at least she'll be an energetic warrior._

"This solves everything," Delion said quietly to Trey. The deva was marching around in circles, swinging her mace at imaginary foes. "She can go in my stead. This way, you get an ally, and I don't have to worry about being dominated."

"Yes," Trey responded gravely. "But we have a new problem."

"What's that?"

"The way she swings that mace, she's got a better chance of beating _me_ than Vix'thra."

"Don't be so sarcastic. She isn't…that bad." Delion said, as Lavoera tripped over a stray skull and fell flat on her face. "I think."


	16. Brittle Bones

_Update:Nice catch, Witchwolf. Rizolvir, not Imloth, should have been in this chapter. Mental mistake on my part, but it's all fixed up now. Chapter 17 under development, hopefully by next week I'll have it done._

****

**_Disclaimer: _**Neverwinter Nights has not and never will be mine. Trey, Alain, and Delion, Algaricciragla, however, are mine, so if you'd like to use them in one of your stories, lemme know. And by the way, any Drow I may use come from my imagination, not from a dictionary or something. So if you get pissed when you learn that there is no word for _des'tai _or _fei_… tough.

_A/N: Fei _is a derogatory Drow term generally aimed at those in a lower position. It's translation would be close to "boy" or "fool".)

_Witchwolf: Call us even. I borrowed your format for "Temper' a' Mental" to write Mephy's conversation, so much credit there. Yeah, now that I think about, maybe giving numbers wasn't such a hot idea, but I'll deal with it. If the stalactite shower strikes your fancy, I would only count it as a compliment (though you may change your mind when you see the new plan). Lavoera is usually portrayed as the stereotypical stuck-up celestial, when her personality is more like Deekin. Danger makes her giddy. Not the first person I'd choose to watch my back in a fight, but you could do worst. _

Chapter 16

"What's wrong, Jarluk? You look…nervous." Tenari said, as the sub-lieutenant stood at attention before him. The Drow had his notes clenched tightly in his hands, and there was a sheathed sword propped up in a chair next to him. There was nothing wrong with his attire, and at a glance everything seemed to be fine… but Tenari thought the subordinate looked a trifle pale. Was he really so intimidating? Not that it mattered. Love and fear are two ways to control an army, and while love is so much more poetic, fear was infinitely easier. And also, enjoyable.

"Nothing, sir. Just eager to make my report," Jarluk lied. His fears were justified, in his opinion. It's common for rumors about an unknown general to travel among camp, and Jarluk had dutifully ignored them, but it wasn't until a few days ago that he began to think there might be some truth in them.

A younger Drow had made the mistake of having a smile on his face when Tenari was passing by. Whether he was laughing at the general or not was irrelevant. Without missing out a beat- hell, without taking a breath- Jarluk had watched the commander unsheathe his sword, turn on his heel, and slice the soldier ten different ways before killing him. Eye, ear, rib, belly, knee, shoulder… all non-vital blows meant to harm than to punish, and ending with a last cross-swipe, decapitation so clean that the body was still jerking spastically even as it fell. The head, still grinning, landed with a horrible SPLAT, coming to rest at the general's feet.

Then Tenari had lifted one foot and punted the head, sending in arching into the back of a small goblin. The goblin squealed and scurried out of the way. All this Jarluk had witnessed without a word. Even in Drow culture, beheading was harsh, and saved for enemies and lesser creatures-orc, goblin and the like- not for Drow. If he was this severe with his own _soldiers, _then…

_You're overreacting. Maybe that was a little harsh, but…_ But what? What would happen if Jarluk had the misfortune of delivering the bad news to him when he was in a bad mood? There was nothing special about him; a replacement wouldn't be hard to come.

"Get on with it, Jarluk," Tenari said, and the sub-lieutenant clearly heard the testy tone in the general's voice. He must have been too involved in his thoughts to have heard him the first time.

_Concentrate, damnit, or it'll be easier to imagine him angry than you think. _

"Sorry General. Good news: we've received a message from House Mae'vir from the rebel camp."

"House Mae'vir? They aren't destroyed yet?" Tenari scratched his chin, thinking. House Mae'vir had been one of the Valsharess' earliest conquests, back when she belonged to a house. Mae'vir had attempted to crush the ambitious female and had been squashed instead. "They've sided with those Eilistraee trash?"

"Not completely, sir. The message was a denouncement of the Seer's forces, and a formal request to join our side. Along with the note, they've enclosed valuable information on the rebel strategy with the promise of more, as long as grant them shelter. Also, they've sent a gift, as a show of their allegiance."

"Well, that's lucky," Tenari said evenly. Would the Valsharess accept such a request from one of her vanquished foes, especially one of her first? Tenari discovered he didn't care. What the Valsharess _did_ accept was victory, and unexpected spies could only help them in achieving that.

Besides, there was always time to play with Myrune and her precious little house after the battle, if she wished.

"Draft a response to them immediately, Jarluk. Tell them we accept as long as they can do a little more than show us their plans. I need those gates open when we arrive." Tenari said, closing his eyes as he dictated. "What did she write about, anyway?"

"Well…" Jarluk glanced at his notes, where he had jotted down the main points of the Mae'vir message. "She spoke of tunnels, explosives and firecrackers."

"Jarluk," Tenari said, looking down at his desk and sighing. "What are firecrackers?"

"I… I don't know, sir."

Tenari flapped a hand at him, dismissing it. "What else?"

"Well, the leaders of their forces appear to be a seasoned soldier named Imloth, the tiefling Valen Shadowbreath, and a human monk."

Tenari inhaled sharply. "What's the monk's name?"

"Ah," Jarluk glanced at his notes again. The name of the human hadn't seemed important to him, but… "Alain Johns, sir."

Tenari leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly through his teeth. Alain… not the one Mephistopheles wanted eliminated, but the one the Valsharess was worried about. No matter. That one would be finished soon, when his soldiers came marching to their gate. Three people can't defeat a army, after all. The Valsharess could have that monk. The one he wanted was…

"What news have you heard of the bald monk, Jarluk?"

Jarluk swallowed nervously. _He's getting into that mood again, just like last time… take a breath. _

"Jarluk, can you hear me?" Tenari said in a sing-song tone. A dangerous, glittering smile was on his face, not quite unlike the strained grin that had been on his face before. The look that had been on his face when he had killed that recruit.

"Y-yes sir."

"Then tell me what I want to know, _fei._" Now his smile froze, like the desolate glimmer of an icy pond on a winter day.

"My apologies, General," Jarluk replied quickly, trying to regain his composure. The sight of Tenari caressing the sheath of his blade didn't help matters. "Our scouts have reported sightings of the bald monk, along with another lone Drow, heading towards Drearing Deep, which is where we expect our undead allies to be coming from."

"Don't state the obvious, Jarluk, I'm getting impatient," Tenari warned. Mentally though, he was miles away, calculating what this could mean. When the monk had left Zorvak'mur, the outpost had been decimated, and the illithids that had expected to arrive never came. Now, he had arrived at Drearing Deep. Would he be as lucky there?

"Er… since those sightings sir, the number of undead coming from Drearing Deep has thinned considerably, and we have still received no word from the Drow emissary that was dispatched there a few weeks ago. Our clerics believe that they are currently deceased."

"Hmm…" Once again, the question presents itself: how could one human do so much? Were _all _of the gods pulling for him or something? _Damn it all!_ _I should have gone after that bastard when he was leaving Zorvak'mur! _The fact that the bone golems Vix'thra had promised might not show up didn't bother him. The fact that that monk was scurrying about beneath his feet, fouling things up, did. Why couldn't he just make matters easy and go back to his base, like a good human?

"Sir?" Jarluk's hesitant voice cut through his thoughts, putting an end to pondering.

"What about our other troops?"

"Well… the beholders are accounted for. Of course, the Duergar and Drow… several goblins and re-animated corpses for fodder… the arch-duke's horde: pit fiends, gelugon, succubi, several elementals, vrocks, and of course, whatever else our clerics can summon."

"Very well," Tenari sighed, massaging his forehead slowly. Already a headache was beginning to form. "You're dismissed."

"There's one more thing, sir."

"What is it, lieutenant?"

"One last bit of good news. Mae'vir sent this sword along with their message." He gestured to the sheathed blade next to him. "One of their nobles stole this sword from the camp's weaponsmith. They swear on his skill."

Tenari took the offered blade from Jarluk, and slowly unsheathed the blade, giving the blade an experimental swing. Wonderfully light it was, yet Tenari could sense its strength, like firm muscle veiled beneath a thin layer of fat. And the surface of the blade… "What kind of…?"

"It's electrified, sir," Jarluk replied, anticipating the question. It had been the first thought on his mind when he had seen the strange electric blue glimmers across the surface of the sword. "The sword itself is composed of reinforced adamantine. Myrune suggests that you use this weapon to fight the monk, though I can't imagine why."

_I can, though… and that's all that matters,_ Tenari thought, a slow smile creeping across his face. _The perfect weapon! Electrified, so that those pathetic monks can't touch me… and if they should, this blade is hard enough to resist any attempts to shatter it. This was the most useful thing that dried-up old Matron could have done for me. _

"Excellent blade," Tenari said in a level tone, sheathing the weapon smoothly. "Thank you for your report, Jarluk, you may go." The sub-lieutenant turned to leave, but as he was pushing the flaps of the tent back, Tenari called him back, "Oh, and Jarluk?"

"Yes, General?"

"Don't be so tentative around me. After all, I'm not going to hurt you." Tenari smiled. It was an open and sunny smile, completely devoid of any malice, but the eyes above them were a different story. Jarluk saw no madness in them, nor anger, just a sort of watching malice. The kind of eyes that some loathsome predator might have while watching a particularly delicious kind of prey: a knowing, laughing, watchful look. It said, _you know, and I know, but let's keep quiet. Just how much time do you think you have left?_

Jarluk nodded quickly and left the tent much hastier than his pride should have allowed.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

It was another normal day in Lith My'athar; as normal as it can get when one could be attacked by the enemy any day now. A strange breeze was coming in from the Dark River, which rarely happened, according to Cavallas. It chilled Valen to the bone, and smelled faintly of mushrooms, but when pressed, Cavallas would say nothing more save that it was an ill omen. Well, what could you expect from a guy wearing a hood?

Valen sighed, rubbing his shoulders irritably from lack of warmth. Trey had asked him to come here early in the morning, when there were fewer watching eyes.

"What's it about, anyway?" Valen had asked the previous day.

"Don't worry," Alain said mysteriously, after looking in both directions quickly. If any spies were listening, none revealed themselves, and he went on, "but trust me, you'll want to see it."

"This better be good," Valen muttered to himself, as he hunched over, trying to protect himself against the wind. "Otherwise, I'll beat that monk so badly he'll have to ask _you_ for fashion tips, Cavallas."

Cavallas said nothing, as usual, and Valen backed away just a step, as much as his pride would allow. He wasn't afraid of the boatman but… who knew what were under those robes?

"Hey, you made it in time!" Alain called as he jogged over to the dock. Rizolvir followed him carrying a large sack, which bulged in out in odd places. Alain looked cheerful, Rizolvir only disgruntled.

"_You're _the ones who are late!" Valen growled as the two walked up to him. "Do you know how cold it is here?"

"What's wrong, has the great warrior of the Abyss got frostbite?" Alain said, with a smirk. Rizolvir allowed himself a chuckle, before regaining a straight face under Valen's steady glare. "Cavallas, everyone's here."

The robed rivermaster stepped on board his ship, followed by the three men. Cavallas unhooked the ship from the dock with practiced ease, and within minutes, they were drifting peacefully down the river.

"Where are we going?" Valen asked after a few minutes had passed. Lith My'athar was already a shadow in the distance.

"Just a small uninhabited island not too far from here. We just need somewhere where we can test these out," Alain said, jerking a finger at the sack.

"What exactly are 'these?'"

"You'll find out when we get there," Alain replied. "But I think they'll make a big impact during the battle."

"By the way Valen," Rizolvir said, shifting the bag to one shoulder irritably. "Did you borrow my sword?"

"No, why?" Valen asked

"I can't find it anywhere. I set it down for a moment near my forge, then one of Matron Myrune's lackeys came in, demanding an enhancement for his axe at a reduced price. By the time I got rid of him… Oh well. I'm sure I've just misplaced it. I'll look for it when I get back."

They sailed on in silence, before finally arriving at a deserted little island. Cavallas had been correct, there was nothing dangerous living there, save for a few rats and bats, and they were nothing to fear. Valen watched as Rizolvir opened up his sack and pulled out two strange-looking objects from it. They were large gray-black spheres with pockmarks all over them, and large enough so that Valen could comfortably sit on one. In the middle of the sphere were a small knob that looked like a timer, and a tiny button, situated in between two of the pockmarks.

Alain picked the balls up, and walked out into the middle of a large plain.

"Why are you going so far out?" Valen shouted, intrigued.

"Trust me, we're going to need some distance with these," Alain called back. He set the sphere down a few feet away from each other, and pressed the button on each one. The left one clicked loudly, and large spines erupted up from the spokes instantly, like a hedgehog defending itself. The one on the right made a buzzing sound, and rounded spines burst from these spokes. The monk gave the dials a quick twist before running back to where Valen and Rizolvir are standing.

"Which one is set to go off first?" Rizolvir asked tersely, while Valen gave him a puzzled look.

"The light, so you should cover your eyes," Alain warned.

"You should also cover your ears."

"Ears? I never said anything about…"

"I made some modifications. Just cover your ears!" Rizolvir cried, before clapping his hands firmly over his ears and closing his eyes tightly.

"What in the hells are you two talking about?" Valen demanded. He hadn't been dragged out of his bed and towed to an island just to be ignored, after all.

"All will be made clear in a few seconds," Alain replied soothingly. "In the meantime, though, do as he says!"

The three looked rather foolish standing there in the middle of a plain with their eyes shut and their eyes plugged. Valen was just on the verge of opening his eyes an explosion of light coming from the spiked ball forced them shut. Even so, he could feel his eyes smarting from the pain. A high, unearthly ringing soon followed the dazzling light. It was so loud that the three could hear it echoing in their ears despite their plugs; Rizolvir especially. Long after the blast, his ears still rang painfully.

A few moments later, the right sphere detonated. With its destruction came a strange grey mist, like an artificial fog. It obscured their vision for a few minutes before dissipating harmlessly. When the fog cleared, they saw that a small crater had been created by the blast. The three were silent for a moment, lost in their own thoughts, before Alain spoke up.

"You made some changes, Rizolvir."

"Yes."

"It's…very well done," Alain complimented evenly. "Though next time, I'd wish you would tell me first. Mind explaining them to the General?"

"Of course," Rizolvir said, turning to Valen and still rubbing his ears gingerly. "Yonder spheres were created by myself, but they were Alain's idea. He calls them 'sand-mines.'"

"Sand-mines?" Valen inquired. "Why such a strange name?"

"Trey told me about them. He lived in the Anarouch, you know." Alain went on to explain how the warring tribes of the Anarouch would strategically place explosive objects below the surface of the sand, cunningly painted gold. The strong sun would reflect off of the surface of the globe, making it blend in with the rest of the sand. When they were trodden on, the mines would detonate, killing the offender and seriously wounding others.

"Trey even told me that some of the more foolish would see their shine and think them treasure. Of course, in the end they were always wrong. But these mines have some different properties, right Rizolvir?"

"Correct. The mine on the left creates enormous light and sound when destroyed. The light is divine in nature, while the sound affects all equally."

"Obviously targeted at the drow's sensitive ears and eyes, along with some of the other fiends' fear of divine magic. Am I correct?" Valen said.

"Right in one," Alain said with a grin. "Though when I asked Rizolvir to create these, I knew nothing about the sound."

"Well, you asked me about the weaknesses of a Drow," Rizolvir grumbled. "But you forget our incredible hearing, so much more superior to the pathetic ears of a human."

Alain gave the weaponsmith a companionable nudge, grinning. "Right you are, o skilled master of the forge."

"The second sphere," Rizolvir went on, "was supposed to act as the original mine that Alain described. But that little fog you saw there was my alteration. It's a form of holy water: should burn any unfortunate devil's skin off like acid. Just irritates Drow skin, sadly."

Valen nodded, thinking of the mines' application to the battlefield. "How many of these things do we have?"

Alain looked at Rizolvir. "About thirty in all, fifteen of each type. These two here were just brought as a demonstration."

"How do you intend to distribute them across the field?"

"Ah, well, that's part of the reason I've asked you to come out here," Alain said, scratching his head sheepishly. "You see, he wouldn't come any closer."

"Who wouldn't come?" Valen asked, suddenly suspicious.

"Yes, who?" Rizolvir echoed, looking at the monk severely. _He doesn't know about this part either, _Valen thought. _What are you up to, Alain?_

"It's alright, you can come out now," Alain said loudly to no one in particular. A few seconds later, there was a large THUMP from behind them. Both Valen and Rizolvir wheeled to find a strange-looking creature before them. It looked like a humanoid, but constructed out of crystal.

_That's strange, it looks a little bit like Alain. No, Valen!_ Rizolvir thought, as he went for his sword. The construct, which Valen recognized as a battered Algaricciragla, held up his empty hands in surrender.

**"I mean you no harm,"** the construct rumbled, and Rizolvir froze, stunned at the idea of a speaking golem. Weren't golems supposed to single-minded, focused on their purpose?

"Relax, Rizolvir, he's a friend," Alain said, stepping in front of the smith swiftly.

"You two… know this thing!" Rizolvir cried, taking a few steps back. "How!"

"I'll explain once we're back on the boat, Rizolvir," Valen cut in. He looked at the crystal golem suspiciously, one hand creeping to his flail. Had the construct reneged on their deal, and lurked in the shadows all this time plotting revenge? If so, Valen was more than ready for a rematch. "What are you doing here?"

**"The human called me here. Though, if I knew I would meet such hostility…" **Algaricciragla said almost reproachfully, and Valen almost laughed aloud. What kind of golem was this? Was he really serious, feeling offended after attempting to kill the two of them? _Alsigard's perfect creation. _Valen thought to himself. _I wonder how he would sound after a month in human contact… assuming he didn't devour them all._

"Peace, Valen, Algaric's right. I _did _call him here." Alain said, stepping in between them. Valen could scarcely believe that he could still turn his back on that golem after what had been done to him. "He communicated with me telepathically a few days ago."

**"Yes.." **the construct agreed. **"It is because of the bond we share. We were once one, you see. Though, in time, the bond will dissolve."**

"So that's how you were able to find us then?" Valen asked, relaxing slightly. The construct nodded- a strange-looking movement on a golem- and Valen let his flail hand fall. If Alain trusted this thing, then Valen would give him a chance. "Fine. But one wrong move, and I promise you- this time, I _will _break your mirror."

"Mirror? Bond?" Rizolvir croaked behind him, before falling silent after a meaningful look from Valen.

"Algar here is essential to this sand mine tactic, too, you see." Alain explained. "I was puzzled for a while: how could we make the best use of the spheres? Using them as mines seemed a waste of their potential, and it would also lessen their effects. That's when it came to me."

"What came to you?" Valen asked, his eyes still on the construct, which stared back at him with his oddly similar eyes.

"Chutes."

"Chutes?"

"Chutes. I'll show you," Alain said. He pulled the last sphere from the sack and placed in front of the construct. He gave the dial a quick twist, and moved out of the way, next to Valen. "Go ahead, Algar."

The construct nodded again, steeling itself and lining up with the sphere. Then, it took two small steps forward, lifted one clawed foot high, and kicked the mine hard as he could. Valen and Rizolvir inhaled sharply, fearing that the mine would explode on impact, but there was no need to worry. The sphere shot into the dark without a single dent like some kind of lopsided bird, before exploding a good distance away from them, lighting up the darkness like a flare and sending several bats screeching from their homes. The four listened to the sound of the bats' frantic cries before Valen broke the silence.

"I think I understand now."

Alain nodded and smiled. "I thought you might catch on quick. Guess that's why you're General."

"Well, _I _don't get it," Rizolvir said, his fear of Algaricciragla forgotten. "What do you mean by chutes?"

"Alain wants to use the underground tunnels beneath the field as chutes. The golem will punt them down the tunnels from our side of the gate. The timer should go off by the time they come out on the other side of the field…"

**"Right into your enemy, I suppose." **Algaricciragla said. **"Of course, after your weapons are all gone, I will dive into the plain. And feed."** The construct grinned toothily, almost licking his lips at the thought. **"I need to restore my mirror."**

"Of course," Alain said, and Valen saw that for the first time, the monk looked almost nervous. "Now that you know our plan, we can count on you to be there, can't we? And then all debts are paid."

**"Yes, all debts paid," **the construct agreed. **"Farewell, until the day of your battle." **He turned his back on them, loping into the darkness like some kind of ancient gorilla. It was only after the echoes of Algaricciragla's heavy tread had faded into the darkness that Alain would speak.

"Sorry about that, but I'm still a little unsure of how that thing will act," Alain said, scratching the back of his head uncomfortably. Valen had to grudgingly give the boy some credit. After all, he had endured being bonded with that golem for all this time without so much as a complaint. The tiefling had had no idea that anything was wrong with him at all. The amount of preparations they had made on their return had pushed out the details of their battle in the Isle of the Maker out of his mind.

_For him to take so many steps to win this battle, for a group he hardly knows… it seems amazing that I could have once believed that he would betray us. Is it wrong to mistrust the idea that he would help us, without asking for anything in reward? Then again, what would I know about trust? The Blood Wars pretty much wiped that concept out of my mind._

"Would someone just tell me what that thing _was?_ And why you two didn't seem surprised at all?" Rizolvir demanded, a little crossly. Valen snapped out of his reverie as the three made their way back to Cavallas' raft, Alain relating the tale of their experiences with almost childish enthusiasm.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

I've got big plans.

What? You don't believe me? You say it's a little hard to take me seriously when I'm chained to the wall with about a thousand cords of magical energy? You say what could someone like me, who's fallen so far so quickly, possibly do to regain my freedom?

Many, many things. But first, let's clear up a few misconceptions, shall we?

For one thing, I _let_ myself get captured by this silly elf bitch. These chains are for show, you know. What's really keeping me bound here is knowledge. Yes, knowledge. She learned my True Name, after all.

What? How could I let her know my True Name? How do _I _even know my True Name?

Heh heh. Well, I won't answer your second question. That's private, and I'll keep my secrets while I can. Before _she _can think to force them out of me. But I will grant the first question an answer. Yes, yes, I know I'm kind. Stop snickering!

You see, using my own unique resources, I let my True Name slip into the foul ears of the Drow's "Dread" goddess, Lloth. (Good-for-nothing spider. I don't know why anyone never swatted her cosmic ass with a scrap of parchment eons ago. But that's neither here nor there.) Lloth passed on this knowledge to one of her favored priestesses. Can you guess who it is? Yup! It was the good Matron Mother Balinyle, of House Kat'elz.

Or the 'Valsharess', as she prefers to be called.

So, of course, ol' Bally summons ME, the arch-duke of Cania himself, to become her slave (and wall ornament, as you can tell). Of course, with my backing, no pathetic Drow army had a chance of crushing her, and even the ones who came closest were incinerated in a ball of flame, courtesy of Yours Truly. 'The Great Valsharess' would be nothing without me. Not that I care, for you see, I had just accomplished step one of my plan.

Hmm? You say you want to hear how I can attribute my utter enslavement to a mere mortal as a part of a grand master plan? You say you've heard 'em all but they never get old? What the Hell, I might as well tell you… but first, quit yer laughing!

You see, though being the supreme ruler of Cania has its perks, lately, it had began to lose its appeal to me. Day in, day out, the same old grind. Wake up to the wailing of the Lost, fall asleep to the sound of ice miners at work. Not as fun as you might think. But of course, leaving is out of the question. Asmodeus, the 9th Lord of the Hells of Baator, made sure of that (though, I'll soon be taking _that _title away, if everything goes right.)

But, like all things in Hell, there is always a loophole. You just have to be cunning enough to find it. By the way, mind scratching my nose for me? I would, but… well. Ahhh…perfect. I promise to make your death quick and painless when I escape. But I digress.

Creatures of a fiendish nature are usually restricted from entering the Material Plane on their own, though it's not unheard of for a particularly strong few to do it anyway? What? I'm a weakling? Don't be such a child.

Anyhow…

Devils, demons, or whatever have to be summoned first. Then they are free to wreak havoc, pillage, rape, and so forth. But usually there's a time limit with such a deal, and before you know it, the poor berk's back on his way to Hell. But there is a way to get around this restriction. If one were to be bound here, not summoned but _bound _on Toril, then not even Elminster himself could send him back. You can't break the power of a True Name, after all.

More and more I began to think, to dream, of ruling Toril. Think about it: to take a step into the Material Plane, to crush it beneath my hoof and make it mine! It's the ultimate fantasy of any devil, and I would be the first to take that chance.

There were a few precautions, of course. I had to make sure that no one else could discover my True Name, or else it would be easy as cake to order me right back to Hell, and to never return. Of course, I can't kill Lloth (our powers kind have cancel out, even if she is a puny bug.) But I _could_ block the sound of her voice from reaching the priestess' ears. With that done, the Drow society would fall into anarchy, and since no one else even bothers to worship that damn spider, there was no hope of my return to hell. Of course, by the time the priestesses will be able to hear their deity's voice, there won't be any left. If you catch my drift.

Days went by. The power of the matron mother grew quickly with my demonic aid, and before you know it, every blasted Dark Elf who enters this room starts quaking like a frightened child. Of course, the little Elf insisted on parading me in front of every lowly Drow female who happened to enter the room. This one time, she even made me sing…

What? You say to hurry up and get to the juicy parts? All in good time, my friend. I'm painting a picture now, so sit back and pretend to like art. But I can understand your impatience, so I'll skip ahead a bit. Now, I think I'll answer your second question. Yes yes, I remember: how could someone like me regain their freedom?

Of course, I was utterly under Balinyle's control while she knew my True Name. What was the loophole? Aha, you're catching on, my good friend. There are limits to what one can do with a True Name. You cannot order someone to kill themselves (though you _can_ order them to die- strange but true), you cannot order them to love, or to fall out of love (sadly, even love is beyond the powers of magic) and most importantly, _you cannot order someone inflict harm upon himself _(Self-mutiliation is a no-no). There are other rules, of course, but I hoped you were paying attention to that last one.

Huh? How do I plan to capitalize off of those rules? Listen closely. There is an artifact called the Relic of the Reaper, which is a sign of my power and usually bestowed to my priests. It is also a part of myself. Do you get my meaning?

…

Yes. Right in one.

Anyone holding that Relic is holding a piece of myself. And of course, I knew exactly who was holding it at the moment. It was all a matter of time. When the monks came into Waterdeep, I told the Valsharess (damn, now she's got me saying it) that they were the ones who would dethrone her. Man, was that ever a critical point in the plan! I tell you, everything would have unraveled there if she had commanded me to tell the truth. But the news was shocking that I suppose it drove that question clear out of her mind.

So, of course, Balinyle orders me to kill them. And _that _was the moment- the greatest feeling of my life!- that was the moment when I felt those chains around my soul loosen. It felt so damn good I asked her to repeat herself, can you believe it?

Hahaha- hmm? Why didn't I just escape right there? Torch the place down and start running amok? You must not be listening very well. I couldn't do a thing yet. I was free of her commands, but I needed to become whole before I could take advantage of it. I needed the Relic.

So, I guided those monks down here. I only needed one, but there was some bond between the two of them, some sentimental crap I'm sure, and so I got two for the price of one. When Balinyle sent her assassins, I warned the monk using the relic. When Tenari, that poor misguided pawn, attempted to kill the monk, I affected his judgment. He chose the wrong monk, and fell from the Valsharess' favor and into my control.

Huh? The other monk?

I don't give a damn about that old fool. Let him run wherever he will, that wrinkled old toad, as long as he stays away from the Relic. Why does it matter if he holds the Relic? Well… that's another question I'll choose not to answer.

There's not much time left. I care not whether the monk wins or loses against the Valsharess- so long as someone hands that Relic over to me. Whether it's the human fool Alain or the elven fool Tenari makes no difference. Fools are fools. The Relic is here, and that's all that matters.

And once I've got that Relic, oh are things going to chance. I'm never going back to Cania if I can help it. But maybe those troublesome monks might enjoy the cold better than I do. What does it matter? After one thousand years, just about anyone gets used to the cold.

Hmm? What do I want to do once I escape? Nothing too big, nothing too special… I want to do what anyone in my position would want. To have fun. Eat, drink, and destroy. After all, when it comes to slave labor, devils are much more useful than humans. Stronger, faster, and they don't whine about getting "food" and "water" all day. Mostly, it's the thrill of being somewhere new, somewhere I've never seen.

I'm acting like a tourist? Don't insult me! I don't want to see the sights, I just want to blow them up.

I've got BIG plans for this ball of mud, and frankly, I can't wait to get started.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"This is it," Trey said, as he began to insert the glowing orbs into their respective slots. They had returned to the northernmost door, the home of Vix'thra (according to Delion). If they had had more time, Trey would have suggested taking a short rest before going any further. But there was simply no time. He had no idea how much time Delion had left before the spell's effect became permanent. "Are we ready?"

"Let's just get this over with," Delion answered, a little weary. He looked tired to the monk, but he had pushed gamely on. His body felt feverish, incredibly hot, and that filled Delion with dread. His ears seemed to be picking up voices from the shadows, and when he turned to look, he could swear that he saw eyes glaring back at him He didn't want to believe but, he thought that those eyes might belong to the dead. Wraiths, or spirits, whatever you want to call them. The voices of those that the vampires had "converted", their bodies still walking, but their spirits pushed out. _I'm close now. Very close. On the edge of another world…_ It's said that a candle burns brightest right before it goes out. Delion feared that this might prove truer that he thought.

"I can't wait to get started!" Lavoera exclaimed, her green eyes glittering with excitement. Delion saw her grin, and was struck with a sudden memory: young Drow going to war for the first time had shared that same expression. _I only hope she's more experienced than she seems. Otherwise, Trey really _will _be in danger._

The door slid open noiselessly, and the three stepped into the room. It was sweltering, and Trey could feel his pores open up immediately. Lava bubbled and flowed to either side of them, like a river of fire. A flash of white appeared in the wave of red, there and gone before he could think. _Why is _that _there?_ Trey thought. _What in here could possibly be powered by lava? I can't imagine any of the vampires enjoying this._

Lavoera gasped, sounding almost comical in the dark, snapping Trey out of his thoughts. There, standing before them, in front of a large gaping hole which opened into darkness, was Sodalis. But not the Sodalis they had witnessed earlier. Of his glittering eyes, only one remained, a rolling, maggot-gnawed white globe. His greasy black hair was gone, and the skin on his skull was in patches, allowing them a look of the fetid gray matter of his brain. His fine clothes were moth-eaten and barely recognizable, but the magic stave that Trey had destroyed was clutched tightly in one pale hand, fully repaired. He surveyed the three slowly, and he didn't need eyes to show his obvious scorn. When he spoke, a gray patch of flesh rolled out of his mouth like a bloody carpet. Lavoera recognized it as his tongue and shivered.

"So… you've made it this far," Sodalis said mockingly in a ragged, uneven voice quite unlike his original. "How are you feeling, my friend?" He remarked, looking at Delion. Looking _into _him, it felt like. "You're looking a little… _pale._"

"You're looking a hell of a lot worse," Delion growled. Just keeping his voice above a whisper seemed to take all of his strength. "And trust me: you will be, once we're through with your god."

Sodalis rolled his eye and winked at Trey, as if it was a joke between two pals. The monk felt revolted. "And how are you, Mr. Salesman? Enjoy fighting with an eye on your enemy and an eye on your pale friend?"

"I've got nothing to say to you," Trey said, though his voice trembled with anger. "You've hurt a friend of mine, and you plan to do much more. I'll let my fists do the talking."

"Hmm. I can't wait to see," Sodalis said, tapping his staff rhythmically against the pavement. His one good eye locked onto Lavoera, and the deva thought it registered surprise. "Well! My word, it looks as if the bird has left the coop! No worries, we'll get you back where you belong."

"I'm going to smash your bones into powder," Lavoera replied in a tight, cheerful tone, "and scatter your ashes across the magma." Her mace, its enchanted shine slightly reduced in the light of the flowing lava, bounced lightly in her palm.

"I can't wait to see you try," the vampire said in a bored tone. "But three on one hardly seems fair, doesn't it? Why don't play with a couple of my friends?" The undead priest waved his staff along with a muttered incantation, and bones, glowing with heat yet whole, flew up from the river of lava. Before their eyes, the bones rearranged themselves into two complete skeletons, though their bones seemed much thicker and larger than any other skeleton that Trey had seen. The two bone golems loomed over them, knuckles cracking threateningly.

"You should recognize them, dear," Sodalis said to Lavoera, chuckling. "Mind you don't touch them- they're hot!" The priest turned his back on them and ran into the dark hole, presumably the entrance to Vix'thra's lair. His laughter echoed harshly off of the stone, and Trey had time to think, _it's a trap, _before one of the skeletons took a heavy-handed swing at him.

"Trey, you take care of the vampire- you can't touch these two!" Delion cried, as he and Lavoera leapt forward to engage the steaming skeletons. His twin blades were out in a ring of steel and, as tired as he was, it was a relief to fight without worrying about protecting your mind. These skeletons might be tough, but when it came to tactics, they were fairly limited.

"Delion, I'm counting on you…" Trey said quietly, before breaking into a run and darting underneath the huge mass of bones and sprinting after the fleeing Sodalis. Looking over his shoulder, he called, "Lavoera, finish up here quickly and follow after me!" And then he was gone, a bobbing shadow in the deepening gloom of the hole.

One of the golems began to lurch after the monk with long, ungainly strides. Delion leapt after it and swung as hard as he could at the back of the skeleton's leg. Bone chips flew up into his face in a fine spray, but beyond that, Delion couldn't see that he had made any damage. _At least I got his attention,_ he thought, leaping to his right just in time to avoid the golem's counterattack. A stone as large as his head, part of the debris the golem had created when he attacked, smacked against the ground besides him. _Though that may not be a good thing. I don't know this thing's weak point… and even if I did, are my swords strong enough to destroy it?_ It is said that a swordsman is only as good as his weapon. Just how good was he?

He glanced over at Lavoera. The deva was only doing a little better than he was with her golem; she had managed to freeze its legs with an ice spell and was fluttering out of its reach, her mace high in hand. But the golem's flailing arms made a direct attack impossible, and the ice spell wouldn't last forever. Once the huge skeleton was free, it would simply pick up some of loose wood or stone and toss them at her until he knocked her to the ground. And try as he might, Delion didn't have the strength or the equipment to deal any lasting damage to his own golem. Its bones were simply too thick. If only Lavoera…

_That's it! We need teamwork!_

When the golem he was facing lifted up one massive foot, trying to crush him beneath it, Delion ran forward, through the skeleton's legs as its foot came down behind him like a guillotine. The golem trapped in the ice was oblivious to the approaching Drow, until Delion climbed atop of the ice and began hacking away at the skeleton's legs, using his blades like saws. Then the construct let out an unearthly bellow, ceasing its attempts to swipe at Lavoera and trying to shake off Delion instead. Lavoera recognized her opportunity and swooped down at the skeleton's exposed skull, her golden mace held behind her. CRACK! The plummeting deva struck the golem with the force of berserk pit fiend, shattering the skeleton's head like an egg. Black, fibrous strands burst from the wound like rushing water as the golem fell backwards with a heavy THUD, the necromantic energies which had revived it already fading. Lavoera landed next to him, a giddy smile on her face.

"You're bleeding," Delion remarked dryly, pointing to a large gash on the deva's right arm.

"Oh, am I?" Lavoera said absently, her eyes on the other bone golem. She waved a hand at him, shrugging it off. "Glad I still have some left, then. Same plan with the other one, right?"

"No time for that. You've got to help Trey," Delion stated, holding out his blades. "Just bless my weapons, and I'll take care of the last one."

"You're nearly a vampire!" Lavoera protested, and for the first time, her eyes showed worry. Not for herself, of course, but for him. What could scare a deva? "There's a reason why undead don't go into temples, you know. Do you know how much pain you'll be in just _holding _those swords?"

"It can't be as bad as seeing one of my friends die. I know that much. So you've got two choices," Delion said, his eyes cold as they watched the remaining golem stagger toward them. "Either bless the blades and go help Trey, or get you head smashed in like that pile of bones."

"I hope you know what you're doing," Lavoera said, biting her lip. She laid her hands on both of the Drow's blades, running her fingers up and down the metal while slowly chanting in a low voice. The swords glowed dimly as she moved her hands away. At the same time, Delion felt a queer tingling in the palms of his hands, similar to intense itching.

"This feels strange, Lavoera, but I wouldn't call it pain," Delion remarked, turning over the swords in his hands. They looked no different than before. "If I didn't know otherwise, I'd think that you didn't do anything."

"You'll change your mind soon, I think," Lavoera said, taking up her mace and heading towards the hole. "Try not to die!" she called before she was swallowed up into the darkness.

The Dark Elf didn't bother to answer; the golem was nearly upon him, and he needed all his concentration. _My mouth is dry, and my palms itch, but besides that… I feel almost normal._

The golem swept one bony hand at him, trying to sweep him off of the floor like a piece of dirt. The skeleton's hand created a large groove in the stone as it came toward him, but Delion sprang backwards out of reach. He gripped the short swords tighter as he charged forward, his eyes locked on the movement of the bones, trying to anticipate where the next strike would come from.

The golem's right leg shifted slightly, and when the kick came, Delion was already out of the way. He leapt on top of the mass of bones, and holding one sword in his teeth, he began to clamber his way up the golem's body. The golem bellowed at him (which should have been impossible, as it had no lungs) and swiped at him with an arm. _Now! _The Drow tightened his grip on the golem's hips with one hand and swiped with his other. CRACK! The sword was the size of a splinter to the golem's eyes, but when the blade connected with its swinging arm, it split in two like a twig. The golem howled in pain as the severed half fell to the ground. A flood of the same black strands that had come from the other golem poured out from the remaining stub.

At the same time, Delion's sword arm froze up, his muscles refusing to move. The itching sensation he had felt in his arm had now turned into a painful squeezing, which began to run down his forearm. Gritting his teeth in pain, the Drow released the short sword, watching it plummet to the ground below. Thankfully, the muscles in his arm released, and he began to climb again. _Now I know what Lavoera meant. The pain didn't come until I actually used the weapon. Guess I better make this one count._

It wasn't easy scrambling his way up the ribcage of a bone golem writhing in pain, but somehow he managed. The golem seemed too preoccupied with its missing arm than to bother with him, which made things a little easier. He took the other blade from his mouth, spitting out the gritty metallic taste on his tongue, tensed, and leapt inside the ribcage, towards the skeleton's spine. The short sword cut through the bone with ease, but as he fell, the same pain he had felt before seized him again. _This is what the undead feel inside of a Temple? Gods!_

He landed on the ground hard, the air in his lungs exiting his mouth in a sharp hiss, but even in pain, his combat reflexes didn't fail him. As the golem began to crumble, he turned his fall into a rolling tumble, moving him out of range of the falling mass of bones. His arm pulsed painfully as he came to rest close to the edge of the lava pit, and with an effort, he pried his fingers free of the sword, before collapsing on the ground, utterly exhausted. Numbly, the Drow watched as the golem began to disintegrate into loose bones and parts again.

_I can't move a muscle. If anyone else comes, I'm done for. _His arms felt like limp sausage, and judging by the tearing pain in his right side after every exhale, he had broken a rib during his fall. All in all, minor injuries. _I just hope Trey and Lavoera are in better shape than I am._

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The tunnel was very dark, but it didn't matter to him. There was the sound of Sodalis' footsteps ahead to guide him, and his _Ki_ helped him to avoid any fallen pieces of rock on the ground. The air had changed; before it had smelled old and musty- tomb air, in other words. Now, it had began to stink. _Something's rotting up ahead, or was rotting. Or I am just catching the scent of the vampire?_

The tunnel ended abruptly, and Trey found himself inside of a large cavern. It was utterly unremarkable, except for four large skeletons laying in pieces on the ground. Further back in the tunnel ran a small path, leading to another area. He could only guess what else was in this cave. Sodalis was standing in the middle of the cave, presumably waiting for him. His eye was closed, and he seemed to be in prayer. As Trey approached, the one eye snapped open.

"Alas, your judgment is nigh, human. The soul of Vix'thra is alvays ready to aid his subjects!" One of the skeletons behind him rattled strangely, and now Trey noticed there was something a little off about the bones. _The head's all wrong… the ribcage seems a little too large for a golem. Wait… I recognize those bones… _

"The time for your conversion has passed!" Sodalis cried, and a sudden blast of cold air blew past him, and he swore he heard a voice on the wind. Simultaneously, the rattling skeleton began to glow, its bones emanating a sinister crimson aura. They rose into the air, beginning to reconstruct themselves into a solid skeleton. _Dragon bones, I knew it. Just great…_

"GRRRROWWWRR!" the dracolich bellowed. The odd thing was, it wasn't looking at him. It's blood red eyes were staring at Sodalis. The latter, undead or not, suddenly seemed much more nervous. The walking corpse fell to its knees, quivering like a gelatinous cube before the dracolich.

"Please, Vix'thra, don't do this! Haven't I served you faithfully until this time?" Sodalis screamed, all the while keeping his head pointed at the ground. The sight of a whimpering undead corpse screaming at the ground wasn't on his top ten list of things to hear. But Vix'thra's answer wasn't even worse, like feeling a spider crawl into your head. _This _is what Delion had went through?

_One human, and you come crying to me, Sodalis? I am a GOD, not your personal undertaker! You've outlived your usefulness. _

Sodalis blubbered nonsense, cowering on his knees, but the time for excuses had passed. Trey watched as the dracolich leapt forward and seized the vampire in one bony hand. Holding the body out in front of him, the dracolich squeezed, and there was a hideous CRACK as nearly all of the bones in Sodalis' body snapped at the same time. Then Vix'thra opened its mouth, and inhaled, seeming to drain whatever energy animated Sodalis, right out of the body. Sodalis' body drooped as a strange scarlet light left the undead and entered into Vix'thra. The dracolich tossed the lifeless body to the side like a toy. Sodalis was dead again. And Vix'thra's eyes were locked on _him._

_At least he did something useful. Rejoice human, and prepare to become one of the whole. _

_My bones, you mean._ _Not me. _Trey thought, as the dracolich began to stomp towards him. Every step caused the ground to shake, and dust fluttered from the ceiling from the vibrations.

"How am I going to fight this thing?" he wondered aloud. His shuriken were useless against something so big. Magic was out of the question. His _Ki_ might make a difference, but then again, it might not. His fists hadn't been useful against any other undead. And there was all those skeletons lying about. What if Vix'thra simply animated another one, after he killed the first.

"We'll fight one swing at a time," said a cheerful voice behind him, and Trey turned to see Lavoera there, bleeding but otherwise fine. Her mace was at her side, covered in an odd black film. He didn't care to ask how she had got it, but figured it involved golems.

"I don't know how much help I'll be against that thing," Trey said truthfully.

"Don't worry, I'll handle him. We've got a score to settle," Lavoera replied, and for once she looked serious. "You worry about his phylactery."

"Phylactery?" Trey asked, puzzled. Lavoera flapped her wings hard once, rising into the air effortlessly, mace in hand. She looked down at him, though Trey knew her attention was on Vix'thra.

"It's like the vampire's coffin, it's the source of his power!" she cried, her voice fainter as she rose higher. "Find that, and this thing goes down. It should be somewhere around here."

With that, the deva flew off, charging the dracolich. Vix'thra was ready though, and opened his mouth wide. A blast of black energy, dark like smoke and cold as death flew out at her, but Lavoera fluttered to the side, avoiding it. She darted in and struck hard with her mace, knocking the dracolich back a step. She flew away just in time to avoid a retaliating claw-swipe. Trey tore his eyes away from the battle and ran past them, going deeper into the cave.

The sounds of the battle faded away as he jogged along the winding path. As he neared the end of the path, he slowed down, creeping forward slowly. Whatever a phylactery was, if it was important to Vix'thra, it was apt to be guarded.

Cautiously, he peeked around the next corner and gasped in shock. In one corner of the cave was a genuine dragon's hoard, piles of gold, jewels and even a few weapons stacked up high. On the opposite side of the room was an even stranger sight. There was a small pedestal made of stone with a circular-shaped depression on top. In the depression was a perfectly round black orb. On either side of the pedestal were two bone golems, similar to the ones that he had left Delion fighting. These golems just stood there impassively, and he guessed they wouldn't activate without a good reason. _There's the phylactery… and there's the guard. _

As he stepped out from behind the stone wall, the phylactery glowed a dull red, which reminded him of the dracolich's eye. _Is this the "all-seeing eye" of Vix'thra? _The golems' heads twitched, staring at him, then they began moving towards him as one. Trey cracked the knuckles of his right hand, then his left, eyeing his opponents. _Hang on a little longer Lavoera._

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Vix'thra roared, sending a blast of negative energy at the flying deva, but Lavoera was already zooming in with her mace held high. Her divine mace connected with one of the dracolich's ribs, causing it to crumble like paper. But she was a second too slow, her fatigue was catching up with her. Vix'thra's claw caught her, tearing into the side of her body with the force of… well, a live dragon. Lavoera slammed into ground, breaking more than a few bones in the impact. But just as before, she rose up, the soft glimmer of healing magic temporarily illuminating the gloom.

_Your spells won't last forever, bird. And when they run out, I'll put you right back in your cage. _

"My name isn't _bird_, it's Lavoera!" the deva cried, sticking out her tongue in a childish display of defiance. But she couldn't ignore the facts: she wasn't a machine, and she couldn't heal herself indefinitely. Her eyes drifted to the shattered corpse of the 'first' Vix'thra she had destroyed. She had known that the god's spirit would jump from body to body, had known what sort of undead this was. In her tongue, it was called a _paragimael; _in common tongue, galimgael. Wandering spirits, with no body to call their own. Some were good, and if a nasty person ever done something nice for you, you can blame it on a galimgael. But others were malign, cruel...

That's when it struck her! It was clearly her divine duty- no, her _right_- to slay this _paragimael_ here and now. Sure, she may have botched up the messenger job… but if she came back with a _paragimael _under her belt, she would be welcomed back with a full pardon. But Lavoera wasn't totally unrealistic.

She still had to _slay _it, after all. Which was harder than it looked. There wasn't too much she could do until its phylactery was destroyed. What was taking Trey so long?

Vix'thra turned quickly on the spot, sending its bony tail flying up at her. Lavoera braced herself, swinging her mace as hard as she could, while staying in the air. There was a brittle SNAP as a few of the bones at the end of Vix'thra's tail broke, but it was strictly minor damage. Lavoera flew away a few feet, landed, and put her mace away.

_Time to try out this new spell,_ she thought, squaring up with her target. She began to chant softly, trying to keep her concentration.

_Running away, bird? Realizing that you stand no chance against me?_

Vix'thra began to move closer, but Lavoera ignored him, trying to compensate for his new position. An aura of holy power manifested itself around her body, making it look as if she were on fire. As she neared the end of the spell, her chanting rose into a scream: "Fae'tore onglak divae dun!"

Nothing happened for a full five seconds. Then, just as Lavoera was wondering what she had done wrong, the general area brightened. The shadows were chased off into the corners, where Lavoera could see two more dragon skeletons (_wonderful_) on the ground. The light seemed to be coming from above Vix'thra's head. A small glowing orb of light was forming above the dracolich, growing brighter and brighter by the second. Vix'thra looked up at the orb and seemed to blanch.

"_Now_ let's see if I stand a chance," the deva said softly, as the orb of light plummeted downward with unnatural speed. When it touched the tip of the dracolich's skull, it erupted into a pillar of light and energy, completely engulfing Vix'thra in a storm of divine power. The dracolich responded by roaring in pain, but even that was drowned out by the spell's force. When the light finally dimmed, and the dots floating in the deva's eyes finally stopped, there was nothing left of Vix'thra but dust.

She took to the air again, looking around wildly. Where was the _paragimael? _Then she spotted it, hovering over a pile of bones in the corner. The _paragimael _in its natural state looks like little more than smoke or dust in the air. Vix'thra in particular was a kind of reddish smoke, which seemed rather menacing in appearance. She considered moving forward to take a swipe at the crimson cloud, then decided against it. The _paragimael _was essentially invincible in its native form, the most she could do was annoy it with her mace. It would be better to prepare for when the _paragimael _took its next body.

But just as she began to despair at the thought of fighting yet another dracolich, something happened. As the _paragimael _swooped down toward its next body, it seemed to freeze in midair, as if in shock in what it was about to do. Then, Lavoera was treated to the extremely odd sight of watching a cloud of smoke shiver. Finally, all of the color seemed to seep out of the _paragimael _like water out of a sponge, and the smoke disappeared. What was going on? Was this some new trick?

Shortly, she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Trey appeared from around the next bend; he was breathing hard and his clothes were shredded. He looked around doubtfully the cave before looking at Lavoera. "You're a mess."

"Did you destroy the phylactery?" Lavoera demanded, ignoring his comment.

"Yes, though it wasn't easy. I had to destroy two golems before I could even get near it."

Lavoera collapsed on the ground wearily. "Vix'thra's dead! A _paragimael _can only be destroyed when it has nowhere left to go, and no phylactery to return to."

"A para-what? Never mind that Lavoera, we've got to go help Delion!" Trey cried, running past her to the previous room.


	17. The End of a Dynasty

_A/N: Bizak means bitch._

_Yay! With this chapter, I've hit the 100,000 word mark. Kind of like being in a brotherhood, except nobody cares and the cake tastes like crap._

_Read, enjoy, review... in whatever order you prefer._

Chapter 17

"…Hurry up, his heartbeat's slowing!"

Voices. Confusing, distant… meaningless. All that mattered was the grayish light floating a few inches in front of him. Pale, teasingly inviting, like a malign will-o'-the-wisp. He had to get it, had to reach it.

He reached out a hand to grab the light, but he was too slow, and the glimmer flitted out of his reach, retreating a bit further away from him. He chased after it with the dreamlike speed similar to moving underwater, his mind focused only on the light.

"Move out of the way, quick!"

Another voice. Female, commanding. It sounded like… Lavoera.

_Lavoera? Who is…?_

Delion froze, wondering, his mind working at half-speed. Confusing images surfaced like bubbles in boiling water, each presenting a more confusing picture than the last. He saw short swords glowing with a golden light… a bone golem towering over him… the cold stone, rushing up to meet him…

The grey light danced elusively to his left, and his thoughts were forgotten. They weren't important, anyway. The light was more important. So bright, and pretty…

_Who's ever heard about grey light? _A voice deep in the depths of his mind asked. _Doesn't seem right._

Who cared about right? If he could just _catch_ that light…

_What will happen? _the voice questioned him.

Well… he didn't exactly know what would happen, but it would be good, right? There had to be some kind of special reward for capturing to beautiful a glow. He reached his right hand, trying to catch the light in his fist, but he was, again, too slow. There was a sense of urgency now, which he did not fully understand but was compelled to obey nonetheless. He _had _to catch it soon.

A shudder went down his body, and he flinched, squeezing his eyes shut in shock. His very flesh felt as if it were sizzling, burning up like so much cooking meat. He forced his eyes open and saw that the grey light before him was dimming, first brighter, then darker, as if its power source was being disrupted. But the grey light grew in size, growing brighter before him, in the shape of a doorway. At the same time, the burning sensation stopped.

"It's no good… I'm losing him…"

"There's one more thing I can try…"

More voices, becoming distant. The doorway of twilight, beckoning him forward. His face was frozen in an expression of ecstasy, bathed in the grey light. He began to approach the doorway, almost lusting for what was beyond…

THUMP!

Delion froze in his tracks, clutching his chest in a spastic movement. His heart… what had happened? Instead of burning, he felt a tingling sensation, pins and needles, spreading outwards from his heart across his body. The doorway dimmed in front of him, and for a moment, he could almost see into it, at what lay beyond.

THUMP-THUMP!

He gasped and fell to his knees, clutching at his heart frantically. It was now pounding so hard that it felt as if it would burst out from his ribcage. He forced himself to look up, a look of regret in his eyes as he stared at the doorway. So close, and yet so far…

A blow with the force of a hammer struck him squarely in the middle of his chest, and Delion wheezed in pain. The grey doorway faded from his sight, and slowly, the hazy images of Trey and Lavoera swam into focus. Lavoera, who was standing over the two of them, looked concerned. Trey, who was kneeling by his side, looked composed. Both of his hands were placed on Delion's heart, and for a moment, he thought he could see a glimmer of light, or energy hovering over his fingers. _Does he know some kind of magic? He's never shown any signs before now… _

The Drow quickly sat up, brushing the monk's hands from his chest quickly, before the pain caught up to him, a stabbing knife of pain in his side. He bit his lip, putting a hand to his ribs. What had happened to him?

"Whoops, I'm sorry!" Lavoera apologized, bending down and placing a hand on the offending rib. He felt a slight tingling in his body as the broken rib mended itself under the spell, the broken bone reforming as the individual splinters of bone formed into the whole. The process was painful, yet bearable, and when it was done, Delion found he could sit up comfortably. He took a few deep breaths, gathering his thoughts, which were cluttered about his mind uselessly. Trey and Lavoera said nothing, allowing him to recover.

"What happened? Did you beat Vix'thra? Where's Sodalis? Is the priesthood destroyed?" Delion demanded at last. There was more: what was the grey doorway? Where had he just been? But he thought he could figure out the answer to those questions on his own, given enough time. Also, he wasn't sure if he wanted to know the truth.

"Vix'thra is gone," Trey answered, allowing a rueful smile to cross his face. The flood of questions reminded him painfully of Alain, who he had not seen in what felt like forever. _All the more reason to return as quickly as I can… _"Turned out to be a dracolich, not a vampire. Luckily for us, his true form was kept in a much more breakable container."

"I can't sense any lurking evil in this temple, either." Lavoera said, before resuming her natural, sunny smile. "By the power vested in me, I officially award this formerly-evil temple the rank of cleansed!" Then, forgetting the pains and aches of battle, she leapt to her fate and assumed a triumphant pose, her mace held high in the air, with her wings outspread wide.

Delion and Trey shared a look of mingled amusement and exasperation. By now, they knew enough about Lavoera to appreciate when she was being serious (which she was now) and when she was not. It would hurt her feelings to laugh. _Besides, _Delion reflected, _that silly smile on her face and the fire in her eyes is priceless. _

"So then, the god and the priests are destroyed? But… what happened to me?" Delion asked suddenly, clapping a hand to his cheek. He had completely forgotten about his own affliction in the shock of waking up. He must have blacked out from the exhaustion after his fight… right?

At this, Trey and Lavoera exchanged nervous looks. After a mental debate, Trey elected to be the one to tell him the news. "You destroyed the golem, and then, I suppose the exhaustion and the disease must have overcome you. You fell into a coma of some kind, which Lavoera tells me is the last stage before vampirism sets in." Lavoera nodded dutifully at this, all the while watching Delion's face for signs of his reaction.

"Wait a minute… a coma?" Delion looked down at his scorched hands, where he could still make out the faint outlines of the sword handles, and mentally replayed his last memories. He had sliced through the golem… fell down to the ground… and…

Lavoera took up the conversation now, an uncharacteristically solemn expression on her face. "Your heartbeat was slowing down. I think it was the will of Vix'thra, trying to attack us one last time from the beyond…" Delion pondered this. It was certainly true that since their arrival in the lowest level of the Temple, Vix'thra had taken an unnatural interest in him. Killing a god but losing a comrade would demoralize the group, perhaps keep them from catching up to the Valsharess.

"Your heartbeat was slowing. I tried to revive you with my divine magic, but I… failed." Lavoera bit her lip, as if ashamed to admit her own shortcomings. Then again, healing was supposed to be her profession, and Delion supposed failing in this way might shake her to the core. "You were fading fast, you should have been dead, only to be reborn a few minutes later. Only as a vampire."

Delion's response came as a whisper. "So what happened?"

Lavoera's eyes fluttered as she assumed a prayer-like position; knees bent and hands clasped. "And then," she said dramatically, "a miracle happened! Trey laid his hands over your heart, and I sensed some sort of energy flowing from him… and you awakened!"

Trey scowled at Lavoera, annoyed. What he had done was not a miracle, but, as usual, connected to his own discipline. He had lent some of his Ki to Delion, pushed it towards his heart in the hopes that it would restart, similar to how an electric shock can revitalize a comatose patient. Delion would demand an explanation, and though he had qualms with discussing the concept of Ki… it would use up valuable time. Time they didn't have.

During his time in the Temple, it had seemed as if time had stopped. Now, with Vix'thra gone, time had become a palpable thing, slipping and sliding away from them in leaps and bounds. Each second wasted was another step closer for the Valsharess…

It couldn't be helped, though. They weren't completely done here. There was still the future of Drearing's Deep to think about.

Delion, felt both confusion and a sort of reluctant gratitude well up in him. He didn't know what Trey had done, but he was painfully aware that the monk had saved his life again. It was never a good thing to be indebted to anyone in the world of the Drow, as it was rare for anyone to do anything for anyone else. Maybe that accounted for some of the trepidation he felt now: he didn't like owing Trey anything.

_Let it go. You belong to no House, and Trey is no Drow. _

Yes, this was true… but still. Old habits die hard. He would think about it later.

"We should leave soon," Trey said brusquely, standing up and attempting to change the subject.

"Yes," Delion agreed, slowly getting to his feet. No bursts of pain, no sudden nausea… it was strange to feel so…well. "But, my blades…" he looked over the swords on the ground. The blades, never meant to harbor divine power, had cracked under the pressure. Their fighting days were done.

"I thought your swords might not be strong enough to contain the blessing, so I brought you a replacement!" Lavoera said, presenting Delion with two beautiful curved short swords. Delion took them in awe, marveling at their beauty. They were wonderfully light, and seemed to glitter from whatever angle he looked at them from. Their scabbards were encrusted with jewels and made from silver, expensive yet tasteful.

"Where did you get these?" Delion asked, astonished.

"I found them in Vix'thra's hoard," Lavoera explained cheerfully. When Delion blanched, she added quickly, "Don't worry. Surprisingly, the hoard wasn't tainted in any way. In a such a place of heavy evil… that's rare."

"Maybe he didn't feel the same sense of greed live dragons do," Trey suggested distractedly. The three had left the chamber before Vix'thra's lair, and the monk was more concerned with trying to find his way back to the surface.

"Maybe. Whatever the case, I took the liberty of blessing these swords, which should add substantially to their effectiveness."

"Why can these swords contain the blessing?" Delion asked, clipping the blades to his belt. "You saw how my old ones handled it. Will these crack too?"

"Those swords are enchanted. I'm not sure what kind of magic they may hold, but whatever it is, they can hold the blessing much better than your old ones."

The deva stopped speaking as the group reached the dangling rope hanging down from the pit. A daunting climb awaited them, and quite frankly, Delion didn't know if he had the strength for it. Going up would be a lot harder than climbing down. Lavoera looked unworried, though. To their surprise, the deva simply muttered an incantation, grabbed their wrists with each hand, and flew upwards with a hard flap of her wings. Despite the fact that both men were no lightweights, Lavoera was able to fly upwards with no trouble at all.

It was an exquisitely strange feeling for the two of them, soaring up in the darkness with no effort on their own part. Still, their was no denying the speed of the matter; within minutes they had reached the top of the pit.

"That was helpful," Delion muttered, rubbing the spot on his wrist where Lavoera had grabbed him. Though the deva looked frail, her grip had been vise-like, and being suspended in the air held only by his wrist had not been comfortable. In truth, he had felt like his arm would rip out from its socket.

As they ascended to the first floor of the Temple, Trey noticed the oppressive, almost watchful air of the Temple had departed. It was this feeling, more than anything else, that convinced him that the evil had truly been destroyed. _I wonder what shall be done to this place, afterwards. _He doubted that the inhabitants of Drearing's Deep would ever find any use for the Temple: there were too many negative feelings surrounding it. It would be better off burned to the ground, as a final cathartic experience.

A small, gray figure bowled into Trey as they exited the doors of the Temple, knocking him to the ground. Delion placed a hand on his swords, startled, but the creature turned out to be Cordigan, who embraced Trey with a bone-cracking hug. "Thank you, thank you, a thousand thanks!"

"Cordigan…please, it's nothing," Trey rasped, trying to break the rock-gnome's hold to no avail. Thankfully, Cordigan got the point and released him. The spoke-gnome stood in front of them, beaming widely.

"But I must thank you. Thanks to you, we are no longer Almost Free. We are Free!" Cordigan cried, and Trey saw tears welling up in his eyes. The monk stood up quickly, fearful of receiving another hug.

"How do you know we did anything?" Delion asked curiously. The Temple looked no differently than before, and he could see no outward signs of Vix'thra's absence.

"It's the bats! The bats have all died!" Cordigan went on to explain that the large bats they had seen when they had first arrived had all dropped dead, one by one, with no logical explanation. The bats had served as the vampires' eyes and ears. Because of them, it had been impossible to plan an uprising against the priests. Anyone who did usually disappeared inexplicably. Now, with the destruction of the priesthood, the bats had perished.

"Listen to me, Cordigan," Trey said, and the rock-gnome looked up at him expectantly, that same silly grin still on his face. "Vix'thra's lair is at the bottom-most level of the Temple. The god had collected a great amount of gold and weaponry, lying in a pile. Consider that a gift from us, to the village of Drearing Deep. But you people have to go get it yourselves. Fear will never rule you again, because you will see the home of your enemies."

Cordigan smiled, nodding so enthusiastically that he almost fell on his backside. "Yes, yes, that we shall certainly do. But please sir, tell me your name. Drearing Deep will never forget its saviors!"

Delion smiled, taking a liking to the energetic leader. "My name is Delion, a Drow from a House of no consequence."

Lavoera, who had been silent, brightened at the idea of being remembered in history as a champion of good. "I am Lavoera, a hospitaler from the Upper Planes. It was a pleasure to help you."

"And you, sir?" Cordigan said, scribbling the names on a scrap of parchment. He looked expectantly at Trey. "What do you call yourself?"

A sudden thought struck Trey, and he smiled widely. "Just refer to me as the traveling salesman," he said, remembering his first encounter with Sodalis.

Cordigan looked puzzled, but accepted the name without objection.

"What was that about?" Delion muttered, as they headed towards the exit of Drearing Deep. Trey only smiled and said nothing.

Within minutes, the three had left Drearing's Deep behind them. The cavern widened and elongated, opening up into the open, craggy land that was characteristic of the Underdark wilderness. After a few minutes of walking, Lavoera stopped, looking deep in thought.

"Something wrong?" Delion asked. One look at her face answered his question for him. Lavoera's quest had been finished quite a while ago, and soon she would have to return.

"Well…" Lavoera began uncertainly, wringing the handle of her mace as she searched for words. "It's just that…um.."

"You have to return home, right?" Trey asked. Despite the affection he felt for the deva, he couldn't suppress the impatience bubbling within him, urging him forward. The battle may have already begun at Lith My'athar, while he was wasting his time here. Still, they owed their lives to Lavoera. A quick good-bye would only serve to sour the memories of their time together.

"Yes," Lavoera admitted, eyes on the ground. "I've been here even longer than I've needed to, and my superiors will be getting worried about me. Ohh, I don't even want to _think _about what they'll say when they find out I failed in my mission!"

"Failed?" Delion questioned, smiling. "I don't see a failure here. I see a holy warrior who doesn't recognize her own strength, I see a God-slayer, the bane of vampires everywhere. Lavoera the Mighty!"

Lavoera looked up, a tentative smile appearing on her face.

"Delion's right, though I'm not so sure about the title," Trey added, his eyes twinkling. "You give yourself too little credit. We would have been in serious trouble without your help."

Lavoera's smile widened as her natural optimism righted itself. "You're right! I'm glad I failed- otherwise, we never would have met. I guess everything worked out for the best."

_It always does. _Trey thought. _Such is fate. _

She came forward, and to their surprise, kissed each of them on the cheek, unabashed. The smell of her hair was clean and sweet, and reminded each man of different things. Trey was reminded of the slight, almost spicy odor of desert sand after the occasional rain; Delion remembered the feelings he experienced on his first hunt, of being poised on the edge of attack for what seemed like hours. _Good, pure things. Magic that can't be called upon, natural magic, if that makes sense._

"Good-bye, Lavoera," Delion said softly.

"Stay safe," Trey said.

"I'll miss you two," Lavoera said solemnly, "but I won't say good-bye. I'm sure we will meet again, somewhere, somehow." She smiled at them broadly, then walked a few feet away. She murmured the incantations to a spell softly, and faded from view almost instantly. The light around seemed to dim, as if warping around her vanishing form.

"Well… there she goes." Trey said. Delion only nodded and said nothing.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Myrune's time had come.

The army of the Valsharess was less than a day away, but in a way, she was already here, in the Mae'vir ancestral house. When the time was right, Myrune would turn on the Seer, at the worst attacking from behind, at the least, opening the main gates for the Valsharess to march in. She needed to be dealt with before she became a problem.

"So how do we do this?" Alain whispered to Valen. "You're more experienced with the Drow than me."

The two were slowly approaching the house of Mae'vir, early in the day. Alain didn't know how many soldiers Myrune commanded, but the odds were going to be against them, and Valen was the only person he knew he could trust in such a one-sided battle.

"Bluffing our way in is out of the question. Our only option may be to move in fast, get in and out as fast as we can."

"We don't even know where Myrune could be," Alain argued.

"As the matron mother, she's apt to be in the highest place in the building. She's vain, remember that."

"Halt!" cried one of the soldiers, standing authoritatively in front of the door.

"Remember," Alain muttered, already going for his shuriken, "don't kill them unless they make you. We need as much support as we can once Myrune is taken care of."

"_Halt!_" the guard cried again. His friend was smarter, who, seeing the resolve in the eyes of the monk, had unsheathed his sword. Alain's hand whipped out, and a shuriken flew from his hand burying itself in the sword hand of the guard, who dropped his weapon at once. Valen swung his flail low, knocking the shouting guard's legs from out under him, then followed up with a kick to his head. Alain punched the other guard in the solar plexus, then shoved an elbow into the back of his neck, flooring him.

"That was simple," Valen commented, taking the door-key from the belt of one of the fallen guards. He unlocked the door and the two entered the Mae'vir compound proper.

"Come on, quick!" Valen hissed, running through the vestibule and up the stairway. At the top of the stairway lounged three Drow outside of another locked door. All three had the same dumbstruck expression as they sank to the floor, falling victim to the flail and fists of the two fighters.

"Would Myrune give her room key to Drow like these three?" Alain asked, rubbing his knuckles.

"Definitely not. But I think I know who she would give them to," Valen said, thinking of how close Tebimar had stood next to Myrune in nearly all of the times he had seen him. If anyone had access to her room, it would be him. "We need to find the Captain of the Guard."

Valen stealthily took another hallway to their right, Alain following behind him. There were many doors along the hall, but all it took was an understanding of the Drow mind to intuit where the Captain would be. The Captain would have knowledge of all House weaponry and soldiers, and would be the most skilled fighter.

"Where do we go?" Alain asked, looking behind them nervously. Drow ears were sharp, and chances are that they had already been noticed.

"He's the Captain, so naturally, he will be the farthest away from the intruder. Let the grunts handle it, right?" Valen said, going to the last door at the end of the hallway. With a grunt, he swung his flail hard, smashing the wooden door into splinters. Inside were six armed, battle-ready Drow soldiers. At the rear stood Tebimar, holding a huge scythe. Alain groaned quietly.

"Intruders! Attack!" Tebimar ordered, and the group of commandos charged forward. Quickly, Valen and Alain stepped inside the room and distanced themselves from each other. The group of soldiers separated; four headed cautiously towards Valen, two approached Alain, swords upraised.

_I think I've just been underestimated… again. _Alain thought to himself, smirking slightly. The first soldier, seeing his smirk, growled and lunged forward, trying to run him through. Alain swiftly sidestepped the blade and closed the distance, slamming the palm of his hand into the soldier's chin. One hand went to the Drow's wrist, twisting and relieving him of his weapon. At the same time, Alain snap kicked his opponent in the stomach, pushing him backward into his fellow soldier. The young monk picked up the fallen sword and tossed it behind him, where it could no further damage.

_Maybe it's time to try some of those Ki techniques I learned, _Valen thought to himself, watching his opponents closely. Two of the soldiers moved to flank him, while a third came from his right. Valen took a deep breath, then let it out. As he exhaled, two of the soldiers moved forward in a pincer movement. Two blades, one coming low, the other coming high. _Let your flail be an extension of your arm, _Valen thought, remembering what Alain had said at his first lesson.

He ducked low, swinging his flail to his right. The sword snapped pathetically as the tip of the flail connected with the steel, strengthened by Ki. The higher blade cleaved the air above his head harmlessly. Valen kept moving, using his momentum to turn on his heel. His flail, its momentum barely slowed despite destroying a blade, connected with the midsection of the second Drow soldier, collapsing his rib cage and sending him across the room. Without medical help, he would almost certainly die. _Well, let's just hope he knows a good cleric. _Valen resumed his previous stance, glaring at the soldier holding his broken weapon, who backed away quickly.

Of the first six, only three soldiers remained. The one soldier blocking Alain's way, having seen how easily his comrade had been disarmed, was slower to move. The other disarmed soldier turned his attention to finding a new weapon. Alain moved towards the second, hoping to incapacitate him before he became a problem, but the armed Drow moved in front of him. The commando swung his sword in a quick vertical swipe, forcing Alain backwards. _If I got backed into the hallway, I'm done for. There's barely enough room to move in here!_

Alain hid his right hand from view, gathering Ki along the edge of his palm. When the Drow pressed his advantage, swinging his sword horizontally now, Alain was ready, swinging his arm on the same path of the blade. Fingers met steel, and the sword was knocked away from its previous path, cracked but not broken. Alain ignored the pain in his hand, thinking _Sword must have been enchanted. I'm going to need a little more Ki if I want them to shatter. _The Drow, off balance and sword down, only had to time to stare in horror before Alain's left fist collided with nose. The monk didn't even slow, leaping over the fallen Drow to charge his friend.

"Ah-ha!" cried the disarmed Drow, pulling a sword from a weapon rack in the corner. CLINK! Steel met steel, as the sword went flying out of the Drow's loose grip. Alain's shuriken thudded into the wood a few feet away. The Drow was still staring stupidly at his fallen weapon when the monk's foot found the back of his head.

Tebimar cursed as he watched the tiefling destroy the weapons of the last two soldiers and slam them to the floor with his flail. All six of the soldiers were either knocked unconscious or without weapon, and the two warriors advanced on him unchecked. How had he lost the advantage so quickly?

"What _are _you people!" Tebimar cried, rattled. How was the unarmed human able to destroy a steel sword so effortlessly, with his bare hands? Had Valen always moved so gracefully? The most discomforting thing was that between them, they had not killed a single Drow. That meant that they were after something (_or someone) _and considered the soldiers little more than distractions.

_Whatever these two want, I won't let them get it!_ Resolved, the captain of the guard tightened his grip on his scythe before leaping forward and swinging hard, trying to slice through the two of them in one move. The younger monk ducked below the blade, while the tiefling shifted his weight, bringing his flail around in a quick clockwise motion. The shock ran all the way up Tebimar's arm as the blade of the scythe splintered upon contact with the flail. Alain charged the captain, coming in to deliver a finishing blow.

But Tebimar was desperate, and desperation can lend sudden strength. Though his scythe was little more than a pole now, he swung it back along the same arc, knocking the younger monk away from him with a cry. Then he swung it back, harder than ever, at Valen's midsection.

"Give it up," growled the tiefling, catching the end of the pole easily in the palm of one hand. Tebimar let go of the pole and made a break for the door, but Alain's foot shot out, catching his heel and tripping him up. The captain fell to the floor, but rolled, snatching up one of the swords that a soldier had dropped.

Alain threw a shuriken at Tebimar's hand, trying to knock the sword away, but the captain was too quick and deflected the projectile with a deft flick of his sword. While he was distracted, Valen threw the pole at him, javelin-style. The end of the pole slammed into his gut, pushing all of the air out of his lungs, and Alain took the opportunity to take the sword from his shaking hand and knock him to the ground.

"What do you want?" Tebimar wheezed, trying to put on a brave face. If he was going to die, he didn't want to die with tears in his eyes. Hell, it was bad enough dying on the ground!

"Give us the key to Myrune's room, and all you'll receive is a headache." Valen said threateningly. "Refuse, and…" Alain waved the sword ominously.

"What do you want with her?" Tebimar demanded, his mind working furiously.

"Let's just say she picked the wrong side."

_They know! I've got to warn her… _Tebimar slowly sat up, his hands raised, before taking a small key off of a fine chain around his neck. He tossed it to Alain, who caught it deftly.

"You've made the right choice, Tebimar. Now good night," Valen said, as Alain brought the handle of the sword on the back of his head. Neither one noticed the slight smile on Tebimar's face as he sank into blackness.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Myrune jerked awake out of her slumber, evil nightmares already fading in the new day. An odd sense of foreboding hung over her lavish bedroom, a creeping danger hiding in the shadows of her closet and the crack under her bed. She rose slowly, reaching for the brooch on her bedside table…

"Ahh!"

She jerked her hand back, the small black brooch that she usually attached to her lapel, growing hot in her palm. The heat could only mean one thing. Each of the generals of her house had been given an identical brooch, which they were to keep on them at all times. The brooch was a kind of early-warning system, used to warn Myrune of approaching danger (incidentally, it was not designed for _Myrune _to warn her generals of danger; they weren't important enough for that feature). The heat grew hotter or cooler according to the proximity of the threat. The closest house general was…

"Tebimar," she muttered, all grogginess forgotten. Something was wrong in her house. Could Zesyrr, that treacherous _bizak_, have made another assassination attempt? No. If that was all it was, then Tebimar would not have bothered to warn her. Her daughter had no soldier that could equal the captain's skill. The Valsharess…? No, she had no reason to fear her any longer. After all, she had already betrayed the Seer. What more was needed to show her defection?

Who then? Some outsider? Who dared?

"There they are! Over there!"

Voices, coming from further down the hall. The invaders were approaching. Quickly, she rose and dressed, preparing herself for what might come bursting into her room. Her calm and collected manner hid the inner turmoil of her whirling mind. Methodically, she prepared whatever spell she might need, ignoring the cries of pain from outside the door… Closer now.

"Unnh!" THUMP! Her doorway rattled as the heavy weight of a limp body crashed against it, and she flinched, setting herself. She wanted to see the faces of the intruders before she killed them. There was a scraping sound as the body was dragged away from the door, then the soft click! of the key turning the lock.

The human monk who had been at the meeting and the tiefling general stepped into the room. Whoever she expected to see, it wasn't them. _That's it then. _She thought dismally. _They must know, and now they've come to eliminate me._ Well, it couldn't stay hidden forever. Now was as good a time as anyway to leave the camp.

But she would kill these two first, before her departure. It would further tip the scales in the Valsharess' favor. She pulled out a thin, gray wand from her robes, recalling the particular incantation for the weapon.

"_Rezzat!"_

The wand's tip, pointed at the two fighters, erupted in a magical explosion of light, before a jet-blue bolt of lightning burst forward. The deadly electricity would have killed them both if not for the quick thinking of the monk, who had chosen that moment to go for his shuriken. Three such shuriken, tucked in between each of the fingers on his right hand, were flicked into the air in different directions. The bolt of electricity suddenly changed course, splintering into smaller forks aimed at the shuriken. The small projectiles were burnt to a crisp on contact with a flash of light that made her eyes water, but the damage was done: the two invaders were unharmed.

Mentally, she summoned the concentration to begin another casting, beginning a silent spell. _Rezzat!_ She cried in her mind, and the wand, reacting to her mental command, obeyed. This time, though, both fighters were ready. Alain tossed himself to the right, out of the way of the bolt, while Valen leapt behind one of Myrune's dresser, his heavy armor making him an easy target. The bolt of lightning blasted harmlessly into one of the stone walls, leaving a blackened scorch mark. A second later, the rod of lightning went spinning out of her hand, victim of another shuriken from Alain.

Even so, she was not unprepared. Her opposite hand dove into her robes again, this time coming with a different wand. This wand was gray in color, with strange, string-like lines running down the handle. She aimed it at Alain quickly, concentrating.

"_Spinnero!"_

At once, a clump of whitish-gray material burst from the tip of her wand, pushing the younger monk to the floor. Alain floundered, trying to climb to his feet, but the sticky white material seemed to liquidate upon contact, forming a gooey puddle that held him fast to the ground. He tried to focus his Ki, flailing out with his fists, but was only making slight progress in removing the barrier.

"Take your last look at the world!" Myrune cried triumphantly, beginning the hand signs necessary for another spell. A circle of flame etched itself into the ground around Alain, forming a shimmering barrier of heat and smoke. As Myrune's chanting continued, the flames grew higher and higher. Alain found himself getting short of breath. Valen quickly pulled out one of the dressers from the Matron's dresser, taking aim.

"_Agagh no fintae delorna-_ Ahhh!" Myrune's chanting was interrupted by a flying chunk of plywood, courtesy of Valen. The piece of timber had left a bruise on one of her cheeks, and she glared angrily at Valen, her face twisted in fury. With her attention diverted, the flames surrounding Alain began to die away, allowing him to breathe easier. He shifted his body as much as he could, pushing his webbed body closer to the fire. For all its adhesive properties, the webbing was not fire-resistant, and immediately they began to run.

Myrune took no notice, turning her focus to Valen. "Damned tiefling! There is no hope for us here. Your precious, peace-loving Seer will have her head mounted on a pike before the week is over!"

Valen's eyes narrowed, his cold blue eyes shifting to a dancing crimson color. "Perhaps," he said softly, yet Myrune could hear every word. "But not before we mount your head first… as a warning to all traitors!" He charged forward suddenly as he ended his statement, his flail held high.

Myrune was remarkably calm considering the threat of an angry, 200 pound-tiefling with a blunt weapon moving toward her. She aimed the rod of entangling at Valen's leg and said the incantation. "_Spinnero!" _Valen, having dealt with his fair share of spell-casters, anticipated the spell and leapt to his left. A mass of webbing hit the ground with a wet SMACK!

No matter. Myrune gathered her will, preparing to take another shot. Before she activate the spell, though, a shuriken landed with a dull thud in the side of the rod. At once, a stream of kaleidoscopic energy began to flow like blood from a wound. Quickly, she threw the wand away from her, which landed in the middle of the room before detonating, separating the combatants with a wall of magical flame.

"Surrender, Myrune, you're trapped!" cried Alain over the roar of the fire. Despite the fact that the deceitful Matron had duped his teacher _and _the Seer, he still wanted to take her alive if possible. Most of the webbing had either melted or had been torn off, taking his shirt and pants off in patches.

"Looks can be deceiving!" Myrune said with a laugh, putting away her wand and beginning another spell. It was a teleportation spell, similar to the one she had cast on the boy's teacher and useful for a quick escape. But where to go? The Seer's camp was no longer safe, and she could expect no shelter from any of her followers. All that was left was the Valsharess, her former enemy. Her reign in Mae'vir had come to an end.

_And I have these two to thank for that, _she thought, giving the warriors a poisonous look. "I may have lost this round, but your days are numbered! Do the smart thing, and give up. I promise your deaths will be quick!" She disappeared in a puff of red smoke as the spell activated, her laughter echoing in her wake. Valen swore angrily, a bitter curse that Alain did not care to hear again.

"We have to get out of here," Alain called as the flame began to spread outward, pushing them towards the exit. Green fire licked the cold stone hungrily. "We've done all we can here." Valen reluctantly agreed, and the two fled the Mae'vir home with haste. Within minutes, they were followed by the subjects of Mae'vir, who, if possible, were even quicker in abandoning the house.

Within minutes, the ancestral home of Mae'vir was reduced to smoldering stones by the magical fire, its former history of glory and conquest wiped clean.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Myrune was spared the sight of her house in her ruins, for at that moment, she appeared inside the quarters of Tenari, commander of the Valsharess' task force. The male was instantly up from his chair, a hand going to his blade hilt, but it wasn't necessary. His tent had been warded against unannounced appearances, hostile or friendly, and breaking through such wards didn't come without a price. Myrune doubled over in pain, her skin feeling like it had been rubbed rub with sharp gravel. Bypassing such extreme magical protections inevitably caused temporary damage to the nervous system.

"Well, well…" Tenari drawled, slowly approaching the Matron. His tone was friendly, but there was an amused gleam in his eyes that she didn't like. "If it isn't Matron Myrune herself. What brings you here?"

"I-" Myrune hesitated, then plunged on. While did she feel so uncomfortable around this Drow? "I was found out. This was the first place I could think of to go to." This was a half-truth, in reality, this was the _only _place she could go to.

"You were discovered?" Tenari's face deepened in concern. Not for Myrune, but for himself. Finding a spy in a high position in your army could prove disastrous, for both the opposing army and the defending. The Seer would soon make changes in their strategy, so as to negate any advantage a spy may have gained. "How? Who?"

"I'm not sure how, I just know I was!" Myrune cried angrily, the stitch in her side pulsing angrily. Tenari gave her an icy glare that she completely missed in a momentary wince of pain. "One moment I'm sleeping- the next that damned human and tiefling general come rushing into the room!"

"Human… monk?" Tenari said quietly, his eyes growing brighter. Myrune, in her agitation didn't notice.

"I'm a Matron, and I deserve more respect, even if I _am _your enemy! Get a cleric in here! The Valsharess would agree with me, and when I get back-"

"Shut. Up."

The words were soft, spoken without any real feeling, yet they had all the effect as breathless bellowing. Tenari's hand had crept to his sword hilt again, and Myrune was uncomfortably aware of how close they were. Close enough to slice her in two in one swipe…

"How can you say you deserve respect, when you are discovered as a traitor, working for the same enemy who had already defeated you once. You claim to be a Matron, but your House is in shambles, scattered far and wide. The _one _use that you had- the only work you needed to do is gone now. There can be no going back."

"I've already done plenty!" Myrune shouted, her eyes flashing. That was the difference: while the Matron shouted and carried, Tenari's voice remained low. "What more could you need to win this battle? You have their strategies- their weak points-"

"What we needed was a foot in the door." Tenari replied, his voice implacably calm. "Your task was not to manage an army, or maintain the troops. Your task was not to gather our forces, or prepare a strategy. "Your task," for the first time, Tenari's voice trembled in anger, "your task was to sit inside those walls and wait for us! Was that too difficult for you?"

Myrune, shocked at being spoken too in such a manner, didn't have the strength to reply.

"Well," Tenari said, his voice sounding disappointed. He turned his back on her slowly, and the effect was obvious. "I guess that's about what I expect. You can leave now."

"_Leave!_" Myrune nearly shrieked, her silence forgotten. How could she be told to leave after all she had done? _I've sacrificed so much, given up all my protection… _Part of her had expected a double-cross, after all, she was a Drow, and in his position, she might have done the same thing. But that wasn't the situation. "I have nowhere to go!"

"…No," Tenari said slowly, as if in deep thought. Myrune understood at once that he was talking to himself more than to her. "No, I couldn't do that. The Valsharess wouldn't like that at all, and than I would in for it, wouldn't I?"

Myrune didn't speak. Her future hung in the balance. Either she would live or die, depending upon Tenari's mood. It was surreal, the knowledge that someone could hold so much power over her, and for a moment, she felt a twinge of pity for the servants she had condemned to death.

But only for a moment.

Tenari turned back to her, his face expressionless. Then the Drow commander broke into a wide grin. Myrune watched his visage with bated breath.

"I'll just make sure that the Valsharess never hears of you," said Tenari with an icy smile, drawing his blade in a fluid motion. Normally, Myrune cared nothing for the weapons of her opponent- which was what Tenari was- but her eyes were entranced by the beautiful, somehow familiar sword. It was a long sword, with a polished golden hilt. The blade itself sizzled and crackled softly, buzzing with electricity so hot that it seemed to exist in its own pocket of air. Tenari noticed her grin and smiled.

"Seeing as how you procured this for me, I thought it would be fitting to end your life with your own mistake," he said, before rushing toward her. Myrune didn't waste her time on frantic pleas, or reason. The primal instinct, the need to fight or flee rose up in her, and Myrune acted as a cornered animal would: she would fight.

There was one more wand that she had left to unveil, one which she had not utilized in her earlier battle. She would use it now, whipping it out of her belt in a quick movement. The rod was small, about three inches from tip to tip, and a dark orange color. She leveled the wand at the approaching Drow and closed her eyes shut, lest she be blinded.

"_Infernus das!"_

A ball of flame boomed powerfully from the miniscule tip of the wand, dazzling her even with her eyes shut tightly. There was a resounding CRACK! as the fireball connected with what she hoped was Tenari, and a rushing backflow of air swept past her. When she opened her eyes, Tenari was gone, and there was a blackened patch on the floor. Not even a chunk of his armor had survived the blast.

"All too easy," she said to herself, allowing a small smile on her face. She slowly put the wand back into her robe, already plotting her next move. Someone must have heard the explosion, and they would come to investigate. She should cast a spell of invisibility, and try to sneak back into the rebel camp. Then, she would make up some story to tell the Seer… perhaps she had been kidnapped by spies of the Valsharess?

She was too involved in her own thoughts to hear the scrape of steel leaving a sheath.

"Maybe too easy?" questioned a voice behind Myrune, impossibly close. She began to turn, but the plunge of a sword through her gut held her in place like a pig on a spit. She coughed, shuddering on the tip of the blade, feeling the rusty taste of blood enter her mouth. Tenari leaned forward, shoving the sword in deeper, until his lips were next to the Matron's ears.

"How does it feel? Painful?" He asked casually, giving the sword a little jerk. Incredibly, the overwhelming wave of agony she had experienced with the sword's entry into her stomach was fading, only to be replaced with a kind of dreamy sleepiness. She looked down at the blade, protruding out of her belly, and saw that the sparks of electricity were quite visible, shocking her from the inside. The nerves and synapses that communicated pain to the brain were being dulled, destroyed by the sheer voltage of the sword. The pain was entirely gone now, yet she knew she was dying, slowly bleeding to death. She tried to lift up her head, which seemed to weigh a thousand pounds.

"A painless death," Tenari said, his voice sounding farther and farther away. "Call it a gift to you… a reward for your services."

The Drow pulled the sword out of her in one quick motion, pushing the Matron forward, where she flopped onto the floor face-first. He looked at the bloodied blade with distaste, and then concentrated, closing his eyes. The sword responded by flaring up in excess electricity, the voltage rising and boiling the blood along the surface of the blade. When he opened his eyes, the steel was spotless.

_Wonderful, _he thought, as he sheathed the blade and stepped out from the tent. _It seems that the enchantments react to my thoughts, and changes accordingly. Whoever made this was a genius! Perhaps I should have asked Myrune where she had stolen it.._ Oh well. Done was done.

Losing a spy was _des'tai, _but that he could deal with. But now that the enemy knew that they had been infiltrated… that was worse. If he didn't take action soon, then the strategies he had created with Myrune's information would be useless. He had to strike a decisive blow, and soon.

"Jarluk," he called to his sub-lieutenant, who was passing by at the time. Tenari jerked a finger over his shoulder, and said with a chilling smile, "I made a mess, and I need you to clean up. And when you're done there, rally the troops. We attack tomorrow."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"What's the first thing you're going to do once the war with the Valsharess has ended, Delion?" Trey asked. The two had traveled on for hours since Lavoera's departure in silence. But the quiet was growing oppressive, and the dark seemed to be closing in on him. The Drow was unperturbed, but the human, who was used to a shining Sun and the scent of fresh air, felt as if he would soon crack under the pressure. Idle conversation was the best way to cut the tension.

"You mean, assuming we reach camp before the war's over?" Delion said, half-joking. Half-joking, because the signs weren't good. From the signs: disturbed rock and gravel, crushed fungi, and a lack of monsters, the Valsharess' army had passed through, ahead of them. Would they get there in time?

"Yes, assuming that."

"I suppose I…" he trailed off, trying to imagine a life when it was no longer necessary to look over his shoulders all the time: in the wild, where a lapse in thought meant death, and in civilization, where misplaced trust was assured death. "I had a revelation about Drow society many years ago. I suppose what I would want to do is to help others to have that same epiphany."

"What did you realize?"

"Well, the Drow are all about survival of the fittest. If you're weak for even a moment, then you can bet that someone's already plotting to take advantage of it. But that method's all wrong," Delion said, reflecting on his early years in Chad Nesad, a large Drow city to the north. "Drow are discouraged from showing any 'lesser' feelings: camaraderie, mercy, pity. You will never see a Drow cry. It's unnatural."

"So what would you do instead, if you could change things?" Trey asked, intrigued. Who would have known such an innocent question would have provoked such a discussion from Delion? _Even though we've fought together in the dark and dim, there's still so much I don't know about him._

"I don't know," Delion said, allowing a frustrated expression to show in his face. "It's just… in the wild, the deadliest creatures aren't those who hunt alone, but those who hunt together in packs. If the Drow could forget all of this House nonsense, and come together… well, who knows what might happen? But when our very religion is set upon keeping us divided, how do you start?"

"Well, I've heard that Lloth has disappeared from the scene, hasn't she? Maybe your chance has come."

"Maybe. I hope so," Delion looked down at the ground, before raising his eyes, a smile on his face. "But I hope you didn't think you could walk on without telling me what you mean to do after this war? After all, this wasn't even your fight."

The shadows stretched over them as they passed under the heights of a large canyon, hemming them in on both sides. Trey took considerably more time to answer than Delion. Just when the Drow was about to repeat himself, the monk answered.

"You're right: this isn't my battle. When this is all over, I plan to return to the surface with my apprentice and continue my original mission."

"Your mission? Who tells you what to do? I always had you pegged as a drifter of some sort."

"Most of the time, I am. But my monastery has charged me with a contract, of sorts. My former student, a boy by the name of Maric, had killed three other students before fleeing the monastery. He had learned many skills under my tutelage, but the most important lessons: discipline, self-control, humility… these he knew nothing of. Imagine someone of my skill free to do what they want."

Delion tried to imagine a Drow with Trey's skills and shuddered. It was the only time that he felt grateful for Lloth, who only allowed one religion for her subjects. "What do you plan to do when you find him?"

"I want to ask him why." Trey said curtly, before falling silently. There were too many things he wanted to ask, in truth, but it all began with _why._ Delion, sensing his mood, decided not to press the matter.

It was when they were coming to the mouth of the canyon when Delion heard the first noise. It was a scraping sound, hardly audible in the undercurrent of their footsteps, but it was there. The Drow froze, listening hard. Trey immediately stopped as well, sensing that something was wrong.

All was silent, save for the occasional breeze stirring loose gravel along the ground. _Gnik-gnik-gnik… _Delion barely heard this strange sound a few seconds later. What could it be? It sounded like rubber, or thread, being stretched, pulled to its maximum length. It sounded like…

Taut bowstrings slowly pulled back for maximum accuracy. As his eyes flicked to the opening of the canyon, he realized, almost too late, what was about to happen. The mouth of the chasm seemed like the yawning maw of some monster, trapping them inside. It was the perfect site for an ambush.

"Archers!" he hissed to Trey, drawing his blades just as the first volley of arrows flew toward them. In the darkness, Delion could just barely make out the outlines of the missiles. Trey would see nothing, until it was too late.

Delion dove forward without a thought. He had never intercepted an arrow in flight before, and there was no reason to think he could so now. But there was no time to dwell on that. It was as if his body had moved on its own. He reached out with his arm, angling the blade just so.

CLINK! The tip of an arrowhead ricocheted off of the flat end of his sword, bouncing harmlessly away. Delion stared at the arrow in shock, his mind uncomprehending. Luckily for him, the monk recovered quickly, deflecting the remaining arrows away from the Drow.

"How did that…?" Delion asked in a daze. He looked at his sword in wonder, then at the arrow again. Trey slapped his shoulder briskly, searching the dark for the enemy.

"Snap out of it! Lavoera told you the blades were enchanted, remember? Try to focus!" Trey snapped, his eyes flicking from the right to the left, rapidly. There! A low flying arrow from his left, aimed at his thigh. He waved the arrow away with his left hand, using his Ki to shield his palm at the last moment. _Guess that way is as good as any… _he thought, running in the direction from where the arrow had come from.

Delion overcame his fascination and took off after the monk, heading towards his right. It made the most sense for the archers to flank both sides of the canyon mouth, where there was the least likely chance of retribution. Still, something didn't add up. _Why didn't they just wait until we passed by them, and kill us in the crossfire? It's like they wanted to make themselves known… _

Of course, the Drow archers didn't make it any easier to approach. Arrows flitted by the two, but the closest were easily deflected by Trey. Even Delion, who had no prior experience, slapped away a few arrows, thanks mostly to the magic of his swords.

_There you are_, Trey thought, spotting two Drow archers crouching low behind a large boulder just past the exit of the canyon. They wore red armor branded with the mark of the Valsharess, along with another brand he did not recognize. They were equipped with longbows crafted from polished ironwood, with bowstrings of hammered mithril. Only the best for the elite, he supposed. But only two of them?

One of the archers had time to loose another arrow at him, which he deflected without changing his course. The other drew a curved dagger, holding his bow loosely in one hand. As Trey got closer, the archer swung the bow in a quick, one-handed swing. Trey hung back for a second, then charged forward when the swing was at its apex. He pushed the bow out of his way with his left hand, blocking the archer's knife hand, and swung out with his right, a looping punch that broke the unfortunate Drow's nose. _Keep one, _he thought, turning to deal with the other archer, who was quickly readying himself for another shot.

The monk was too close, and the Drow's shot went wide, thudding dangerously close in the stone a few inches away from his companion. A second later, his bow snapped in two, courtesy of a chop from Trey's left hand. The monk's right leg collided with the Drow's windpipe, and the resulting pain was enough to push him into unconsciousness.

_Two archers. Just enough, _Delion thought. He concentrated, creating a globe of darkness over the Drow as he approached. The archers immediately abandoned their sniping post and separated, trying to confuse the swordsman. Well, at least they had done that much. A loose rock, kicked up one of the retreating archers, bounced away to his left, and he plunged in that direction, his swords held high. He struck out in the darkness, using the quick, shallow breathing of his opponent as a target and struck, the warm, sticky splash of blood along his forearm his only indicator. Moving on instinct, he raised his opposite sword arm, parrying a blow from the archer's bow that he intuited rather than saw. Steel met wood, and steel proved stronger, eating into the ironwood with ease. With the archer's only weapon pinned, the archer was wide open, and this time Delion struck again, for the heart.

Within minutes, the only survivor of the failed ambush attempt was the archer with the broken nose, who lay shuddering on the ground before them. Trey had tried to interrogate him, but had only received streams of Drow cursing in reply. The strange markings he had seen on the Drow's armor looked no differently up close.

"What do you think it is?" Trey asked, as the wounded archer glowered at them suspiciously. The symbol of the Valsharess: a tiny spider held pinned beneath the hand of a Drow, (obviously the Valsharess) was obscured by two black marks seared into the armor.

"They look like…horns," Delion said after a moment's thought.

"Horns?" Trey asked aloud. Who did he know who had horns?

"Whoever it is, they've got some serious resources. These bows," Delion said, picking up one of the archers' weapons, "are not standard for the bowmen of the Valsharess. Way too expensive."

_Someone else is at work here, _Trey thought. _Someone with resources, horns, and a grudge. _Aloud, he said, "I think that we better move a little quicker towards Lith My'athar. I've suddenly developed a really bad feeling about all of this."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Failed? Well, yes, I gathered.

There's someone else at work here. I told you that the Relic and I _will _be reunited: my will is firm, and nothing will deter it. No matter how much those monks fight, I will have my freedom. Such an unstoppable force cannot be held back with a mere punch.

Yet, at the same time, there seems to be some power, just as formidable as mine, that wants the old monk to reach that camp in time. It's like magnets of opposite poles calling out to each other miles away. A few archers won't be able to stop him any more than I could. It's fated to happen. Fine, I can deal with that. Let the boy have his teacher back. What harm could it do?

Tomorrow, yes, I know. After all this waiting, this confinement, tomorrow will be the day of my freedom. Serving this mortal has been the most excruciating punishment I have ever served (and coming from Hell, trust me, I know punishment.) I won't even begin to tell you the type of pain I am going to inflict on her the moment I snap free from my bonds…

But there's still a certain amount of planning involved, yes. The force that has been dispatched to deal with Lith My'athar is only a fraction of the Valsharess' power, even without my demonic minions. If the Seer's merry group of freedom fighters should come riding up to the palace of the Valsharess and meet her full power of her army… well, that wouldn't do, would it? Fortunately, I am more than equipped to deal with this little problem. A nice little disease, urged along by my prodding finger, should serve to decimate the Valsharess' forces and even the odds a bit.

After all, all's fair in love and war, right? Especially since I'm just going to kill them all, anyway.

Soon, so soon… I can't wait until I can start to forget the whining mewls spewing from this mortal's mouth…


	18. War! pt 1

_Graskmit- _Abyssal for lackey, minion, or messenger.

Chapter 18

6:30 A.M., Morning of the Last Day 

Along the lonely paths of the Underdark wilderness, all was quiet, almost unnaturally still. The crystalline silence seemed deafening in its perfection, carrying a foreboding quality with it, a subtle undertone just beneath the surface. This feeling invaded Lith My'athar like a stealthy predator, filling the space under the bed, beneath every rock, and behind every closed door.

The Seer, who had been kneeling before a makeshift altar to Eilistraee, abruptly broke out of her prayer. She rose warily and looked around the ruined Temple slowly, feeling strangely on edge. Faith in Eilistraee required complete, devout faith, and hardly anything really rattled her anymore. Being a Seer meant possessing a certain amount of composure, to be able to understand and accept the vision Eilistraee revealed to her. She had always believed that through belief in her Goddess, she could overcome any obstacle. Yet, there was no shaking the feeling of something being wrong this morning, some minor change in routine that had the potential to turn into a disaster.

_Let go of your worry, _she told herself, closing her eyes with an effort and resuming her position. She cleared her mind of all thought, trying to imagine a blank slate, smooth and completely unmarked. Falling into this state of mind seemed to create a clairvoyant atmosphere, she found, and almost immediately, she was granted a vision. Her neck lolled back, the whites of her eyes showing, and her hands clenched into fists spastically. A multitude of images flashed before her eyes, there and gone, before she could comprehend them. On some level of her mind, though, she _did _understand, no matter how quickly the mental images in her mind disappeared and reappeared.

She remained frozen in this position for perhaps thirty seconds, before snapping out of the trance. Vision returned slowly, as it always did, leaving her in a half-blind state, but she was too preoccupied to notice. Slowly, the images in her mind replayed, showing her a glimpse into the future. She was always reminded of peeking into a window when this occurred, and that was the truest way to describe it: an unblemished, unforgiving vision of what would occur, her gift and her curse. Blessed in the foresight of what happened around her, cursed only to watch and powerless to intervene. Now, she felt her own helplessness.

"Oh, Eilistraee, no…" the Seer whispered quietly, her skin paling, her luminous eyes envisioning what others would never see. Did that make her blessed, or cursed? On other days she would have referred to herself as the former.

In another part of the camp, almost at the same moment the Seer received her startling vision, Alain awoke with a vague feeling of loss and half-formed dreams fading in smoky interior of his mind. He sat up in his bed, kicking his feet out of the covers and onto the floor, wiping one bleary eye slowly. What had he dreamed about? He looked at the condition of the bed: blankets askew with one of the pillows on the floor, and concluded that he had been having some kind of nightmare.

_Today's the day,_ he thought without realizing it; that thought was safely beneath the surface of his mind, floating in his sub-conscious. He got out of bed and dressed quickly, his mind focused on trying to recall the nightmare he had been having. He remembered being by himself in the courtyard of Lith My'athar, behind the second gate. The steel door had melted suddenly, and was replaced by a wall of green fire. A Balor Lord- he had never seen, and yet he knew that was what it was- had stepped through the flames carrying a large, bloodstained halberd. Just as the devil raised the polearm to strike, its stomach burst open, spilling its entrails out onto the stone. Kneeling in front of him, covered in gore, was an unarmed man. His body was almost engulfed with Ki, radiating out from his body. As the Balor fell to the ground, already in its death throes, the man's aura dimmed. The man had been Trey… and then he had awoke.

What did the dream mean? Alain was reminded of the dreams Trey had been having during their stay in the Yawning Portal Inn. Was this dream prophecy as well, or was it only his imagination running away with him? _It could mean that I want Trey to rescue me from all of this fear,_ he reasoned, leaving the room and locking the door behind him. _Or maybe I just saw the future… but why would that be important? What am I missing?_

If Trey were here, he would tell him to disregard the dream. Dreams can be helpful, but more often they distract the mind at the most critical moment. How could one fight if they were worried about trying to avoid their own death? At the very least, if the dream _was _prophecy, then at least no one had gotten hurt in front of him. It was relatively harmless, as far as dreams go.

He climbed the hill overlooking the archery ranges, expecting to find Valen in his usual spot. The tiefling was an early riser, and he expected the troops to do the same. The hill was the best spot to get a view of everything at once, it gave one a feeling of control that Alain couldn't deny. But Valen wasn't there this morning. Alain watched the archers practice for a few minutes. One of the Drow missed his target by a hair, and the monk chose that moment to move on, the indignant cursing of Imloth fading into the background.

It wasn't until he wandered by the docks that he saw him. Valen was sitting along the edge of the pier, looking out at the water with an unfamiliar expression on his face. Was it… peace? Lethargy? His Devil's Bane lay on the pier next to him, the farthest distance Alain had seen it from Valen.

"What's wrong with you?" Alain asked, sitting down on the pier next to him and being careful not to allow his feet to carelessly penetrate the surface of the black water. The Dark River was aptly named; the only thing he feared more than what swam beneath the murky depths was taking a swim in them.

"Why does something have to be wrong?" Valen answered without looking at him. His eyes were faraway, staring into the darkness in search of a horizon. "Can't I just sit here without a care, minding my own business?"

"No, Valen. You can't."

Valen ignored the jibe, continuing to stare into the darkness. Alain focused, opening his mind's eye, and saw that his aura was a mix of colors, peace and melancholy and suppressed anger and something else: wanting. Valen suddenly locked eyes with him, as if sensing the monk's gaze.

"You feel it too, don't you?"

"Feel what?" Alain asked, startled, the aura fading from view as his mind's eye closed shut.

"The calm before the storm," Valen explained, his tone similar to one used speaking to a very small child. "The silence before the final plunge. The tension, the excitement…the fear. Everything. It hangs over this camp like a pall," he said in closing, looking out at the river again.

"No," Alain lied, amazed at how quickly the tiefling had picked up on his trepidation… which even he hadn't been aware of. Valen let the mistruth pass, and Alain hurriedly changed the subject. _He may not see auras like Trey or myself, but he's intuitive all the same. _"How is the transition coming along in House Mae'vir?"

"Surprisingly well. I believe that unknowingly, we may have made Zesyrr's dreams come true."

"Zesyrr? Myrune's daughter? Why would you think that? We killed her mother!"

"Drow think of their family a little… differently than on the surface," Valen said with a slight smirk. He had forgotten that Alain was still fairly ignorant of Drow politics. "Zesyrr was more than ready to fill in her mother's shoes. Their family house was burned to the ground yesterday, so for the time being, she is staying at the common house."

Zesyrr, and many of her followers, had been at the burning house almost instantly. As Alain and Valen escaped the conflagration, the treacherous daughter was already sweeping through the ranks of Myrune's old company like a deadly wind, cutting down those who did not change allegiances quickly. The work was done quickly and with little bloodshed.

"Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to attack as we did…" Alain said, musing. Their assault must have seemed like a knee-jerk reaction; they had gone in without a definite plan, only raw emotion. Alain wanted to see the face of the female who nearly killed his teacher, while Valen felt that dealing with the traitor was part of his duty as General. If there had been a battle plan, perhaps Myrune would not have escaped.

"What's done is done. No use dwelling on the could-haves. "

"Do you think Zesyrr will be more loyal than Myrune?"

"For a time," Valen said softly. They stared at into the darkness, a light breeze carrying the smells of the river blowing gently into their faces. It was a surprisingly peaceful moment… for the Underdark, at least. Alain felt a sudden, unexpected twinge of longing for fresh air and a blue, clear horizon in front of him. Then something below them, beneath the pier, croaked hoarsely and the moment was gone.

"What do you think happened to Myrune? Where did she go?"

"I do not know. But I wouldn't worry about her coming back. I am sure the sight of you rolling about the floor, covered in webbing is enough to haunt her dreams for a fortnight," Valen said, his face refusing to betray a smile. Alain chose to ignore the tiefling, and for a few moments there was more silence. Then, in a halting voice, Alain spoke again:

"How did you know… about the quiet?"

Valen didn't seem confused by the question, instead he seemed to have expected it. "You forget, perhaps, that I was once a warrior of the Abyss? I have felt this silence pressing down against me, like a second skin many times before. But the difference is that I relished the quiet, unlike the atmosphere here." He gestured to their surroundings, referring to the entire camp. "Here there is… fear." His eyes took on that faraway look, but this time there was another emotion as well.

Was it scorn? Alain thought it might be. Scorn, because there was no one here who felt the same way about battle as he did. There was no anticipation for the thrill of battle. Only nervous, potentially traitorous Drow and a frightened human.

_He _is _a tiefling, you know. What if he loses his cool during this battle? _Alain tried to imagine a berserk Valen, his eyes glowing red and his flail flying, set loose on the battlefield like a wolf among cattle, and found it all too easy. When his strength was controlled, Valen was both brutal and swift, usually ending the lives of his victims with a killing stroke to their head.

_It's a possibility,_ a voice in his mind said quietly. _But if you still have to worry about at this point… then you're in even worse trouble than you thought. Place your trust in your friends. After all, who else can you trust? _

"It will happen today," Valen continued, and for a moment Alain was confused, lost in his own thoughts before he picked up the thread of conversation. Valen's normally vibrant blue eyes had taken on a strange, glazed look. A trickle of doubt trickled into Alain's mind despite himself. "There's still much left to do."

"Right," the monk agreed quietly. He got up and assumed a military stance, at attention. Anything to change that dead stare in his eyes. "What are your orders…General?"

"Tell Imloth to gather the troops, and have them meet me in the War Room. Double-time, private!"

Alain gave him a mock salute and proceeded to sprint away, heading for the archery ranges. Valen watched him go, a bemused smile on his face. A few minutes later, he stood up and walked along the pier, headed for the War Room.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_7:30 A.M., Camp of the Valsharess_

"Need something, Jarluk?" Tenari drawled. The commander was sitting at his desk, polishing the sword that he had received the day before. Inwardly, Jarluk noted that ever since that delivery, every time he had seen the commander, he had been holding the sword. No, not just holding- _obsessing_. Even when he giving orders, he would, every so often, put a hand on the sheath, as if confirming that it was still there. Who would dare steal the commander's sword?

"We've just received a message from the Valsharess," Jarluk said, holding up a piece of parchment. "Do you want me to read it to you?"

"Just leave it here," Tenari said, waving a hand at mass of papers on his desk. "I'll read it myself. And gather the troops together- I'll be out shortly."

"As you say, sir," Jarluk replied meekly, putting the paper on the desk before almost running out of the tent. If he had a sense of unease around Tenari before, that feeling had deepened into fear over the last few days. He noticed a strange look in Tenari's eyes whenever he looked towards the direction of Lith My'athar, something like longing… or was it loathing? If a soldier running drills happened to make a mistake in his presence, woe to him. Even the infernal among the army maintained a respectful silence when in Tenari's presence. That was the most unnerving thing of all: what do you think of a Drow whom even devils respect?

Even if Drow were the type to open up their feelings to another, (which they were not) Jarluk had no one to express his concern to. The strangest behavior he had ever witnessed: Tenari's reaction to the blade, his expression when he talked about the humans… the remains of Myrune Jarluk had the misfortune of cleaning up- had always been when the two of them were alone. Tenari might be crazy, but if he was, it was a _careful _crazy. He could only challenge the commander's authority with a valid reason, and presently, he had nothing.

"I want the troops lined up in ten minutes. The commander wants to make a speech, and he doesn't approve of tardiness." Jarluk said brusquely to a swarthy Duergar captain who was overlooking several soldiers in a sparring exercise. Several of the dark dwarves, carrying maces and large brass shields, butted and crashed against each other, trying to knock their opponent down with sheer momentum. Both the Duergar and Drow battalions would make up the infantry, and it was essential that they be strong enough for the upcoming battle.

"Yeah, yeah," the Duergar agreed, absorbed in the exercise. When Jarluk put a hand on the hilt of his blade though, he became a little more agreeable. "Righ' then… That's enough, you grunts! Line up!"

Jarluk moved away to another group of soldiers, just past a tent holding captured goblin slaves. This regiment was being lead by a scarred Drow carrying a bow. Jarluk approached him, eyeing the rest of the archers.

The Drow archers were shooting at an upgraded archery range, of sorts. There were the standard man-sized targets lined up some distance away, with markers indicating where an archer would shoot next. However, the Valsharess' wizards had bewitched several other targets to float and weave in the air, presenting a flying target. The archers were equipped with customized bows. The bowstrings were very hard to pull back, yet Jarluk saw that nearly all of the archers could maintain a steady rate of fire.

"Line up, commander's making a speech," Jarluk said, looking at each of the soldiers in turn. Something was wrong. "Looks like you're four Drow short of a set here, captain."

"Yes sir," the archer captain said, saluting. "Four archers missing by my count. I was just going to send out our trackers…"

"Don't bother," Jarluk replied, cutting him off. "The Underdark wilderness is hungry this day, and I'm sure your troop knows how to hunt, don't they? Just be sure to inform me if they should return."

"Yes, sir!" The punishment for deserters was harsh, and Jarluk knew the archers would not return. How many arrows did they bring with them when they fled? If the answer was many, than they could survive for quite some time, fending off predators and eating what they could. If not… well, what difference could four bows make in an army? One thing was certain, though: if the archers decided to return to the camp, then they would soon wish they had starved to death than face Tenari's wrath.

Jarluk steeled himself as he approached the noisiest section of the camp. As he approached, there were fewer and fewer Drow and Duergar tents to pass. No one wanted to move any closer than necessary to the infernal: pit fiends, abishai, gelugon andother denizens of the Hells claimed this corner of the camp. They were moody, unpredictable and extremely dangerous. Early on, Tenari had forced the camp to rest inside of a hemmed-in canyon, which caused the devils to set up much closer to the others in the camp. Ten Drow were found the next to day, their heads twisted so grotesquely that they faced the opposite direction and their dark skin burnt to a crisp. Two others were never found. Tenari had promptly ordered the army to break camp until they found a wider space to rest.

None of the devils were even bothering to run drills for the upcoming battle; most were lounging about, with their raucous laughter booming over the entire camp. A few were even fighting with each other, wrestling on the ground over some imagined fault, no doubt. A pair ofblack abishai, their wings flapping,rolled in the dirt a few feet away from him, while several more stood in a loose semicircle, cheering the fighters on.

Nevertheless, for all of their savagery, the devils had rough sort of hierarchy that they adhered to. The commanding devil was a particularly largePit Fiendby the name of Liskhakth't, also called Grimtooth by many of his lot. His bony head was pocked and scarred with the marks of battle, and his sinewy skin bulged and rippled when he moved. Around his broad waist he wore a belt made from the teeth of his enemies, which included whoever he felt like killing at the moment. Several teeth were the size of Jarluk's head.

Devils respect strength, and Grimtooth had decided to rule by that creed. Anyone who disagreed with his orders could challenge his leadership, and fight for his title. So far, no one ever had.

Grimtooth, along with several other devils, were laughing and shouting in Abyssal as they watched a pack of hellhounds wrestle and snap at each other over something in the middle of their group. As Jarluk approached the group, one of the hounds broke free and ran back to Grimtooth happily, a Harpy skull in its mouth. TheFiend took the skull out of its mouth, giving the hound a companionable pat on the head. Jarluk could hardly believe what happened next.

The devil leader dexterously twirled the skull on one huge finger, which glowed a baleful red. When the skull stopped spinning, Jarluk saw that the harpy's flesh had been restored. More than that, its eyes bulged in its sockets and its mouth gaped in a silent scream. Somehow, the harpy's head was _alive_, even without its body. Just as he realized this, Grimtooth wound up and heaved the skull, throwing the skull far into the distance. The hounds went tearing after it, barking and nipping at each other.

_This is what they do for _fun? Jarluk thought, astonished and a little horrified in spite of himself. He had seen some terrible things, being a Drow; one of the worst punishments he had ever witnessed was when an unlucky servant had been forced to drink oil, then have his stomach sliced open and his intestines set on fire. That, at least, had been torture. It was at that moment that Grimtooth turned around, sensing his presence, and Jarluk struggled to regain his composure.

"Well, well… we've got a Drow in our midst, boys!" Grimtooth bellowed, and the devils behind him laughed heartily, surrounding him on all sides. A lesser Drow would have be scared stiff, with the smell of brimstone burning his nostrils and angry, blazing eyes on all sides, but Jarluk feared failure rather than the infernal. He stood firm, refusing to look at any of the other Fiends.

"Commander Tenari humbly requests your presence, Captain-," Jarluk hesitated for a moment, hoping he could say the name correctly. You had to be careful when dealing with Fiends. "…Liskhakth't. He wants to make a speech."

One of theother devils, a cornugon,snorted angrily, his nostrils flaring. "Why should we take orders from the _grashkmit _of some damned Drow? I say that we've just found a new ball, Liskhakth't." Jarluk could barely make out his words beneath the fiend's voice, which sounded like a roaring inferno and the screams of those trapped inside it. What he did hear didn't sound promising. He swallowed nervously, envisioning his own head being ripped to pieces by those hounds.

Before he had a chance to interject, though, Grimtooth leaned over and slapped the offending fiend, hard enough to knock the devil to the ground. The pit fiend snarled angrily, but did not rise.

"Shut your mouth, fool!" Grimtooth growled, before lapsing into Abyssal. Jarluk didn't understand their foul language, but Grimtooth gestured towards the direction of Tenari's tent and made a curious gesture, forking his middle and index fingers into the air and slashing them downward. Jarluk didn't know the significance of the gesture, but whatever it meant, it caused the pit fiend to stand up slowly, not making eye contact with his leader. Grimtooth turned back to Jarluk, and his tone was almost polite… or at least, a tone suppressing his full malice.

"Understood, Drow. We will be present and accounted for, on my honor." Jarluk nodded, turning his back on them quickly. Trusting in the honor of a devil seemed a little foolish, but under the circumstances, what more could he say? He was clearly not safe here.

_What was that argument all about? _Grimtooth's reaction to the pit fiend had seemed rather harsh, considering it was Tenari they were talking about. _Was Grimtooth actually afraid of Tenari? Why would he be? And what did that gesture meand?_

Nothing but questions, and each seemed stranger than the last. It only served to strengthen his vague feelings of fear about Tenari. After all, what kind of Drow could gain the mutual respect- and fear- of a Balor Lord? It wasn't natural, wasn't possible for any ordinary Drow, Jarluk decided.

_Our commander's a devil in Drow form. His speed, his brutality, his odd behavior… there's no other explanation. Oh gods, what is going to happen to us?_

Jarluk walked back to his commander's tent, believing that he had the truth figured out. He would never know how close he came.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_6:50 A.M., Lith My'athar Gates_

Alain walked outsides the outer gates with a speculative eye. Sergeant Ossyr followed him, though he was looking out to the horizon than the gate. They didn't know when the attack would come, only that it would be soon. The young monk was taking the opportunity to make one last check of the defenses.

"What would you say is our weakest point of defense here, Ossyr?" Alain asked, staring at the gates as if mesmerized.

"Well, if there were a way to scale the walls, then we would be in serious trouble. Thankfully, in case of such an event, we have our wizards to cast a few Grease spells on the outside of the walls, in addition to the protective enchantments already cast. In a pinch, we could also use a few caltrops, too."

"Could these spells be dispelled?"

"Every spell can be dispelled, sir. However, we compensated for that by having every wizard available casting and re-casting the spells. That way, even if one of the protections is dispelled, we have a similar enchantment set in place behind it. By the time the enemy realizes this, our archers should have picked them off already."

"Very good. Is the pit we talked about ready yet?"

"We're still in the process of digging. I would give it another hour before it could be considered finished. Would you like to see it?"

Alain agreed, and the two stepped back through the outer gate. Just a few feet away from the gates was a deep hole, being dug by several Drow. It was circular in shape, and the sides were composed of smooth, unbroken stone, achieved by having several wizards cast Stoneskin on the soft earth. When the pit was completed, caltrops would be placed along the bottom and an illusion spell would be cast to make it appear that the mouth of the pit was nothing more than stone.

"I should be getting back. I might catch the end of Valen's speech. Let me know if anything happens, Ossyr," Alain said, before heading back towards the camp. Ossyr nodded, and went back to supervising the construction of the pit.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_6:40 A.M., War Room_

The War Room was a large circular room, shaped like an upside-down bowl. In the past, before Balinyle of House Kat'elz began her rise to power, the room had been used as a chapel, a room where all of a Matron's vassals could be gathered together for mass worship to Lloth. The sculptures and portraits of the Spider Queen had been torn down, but the rows of chairs remained, making it a perfect auditorium.

Valen climbed up to the stage, looking into the crowds gathered there. The Drow looked back silently, their gleaming eyes a bit unsettling in the darkness. He didn't see Alain in the audience, but it didn't matter. Valen would say nothing that the monk had not heard already. Only he and Alain knew all of the intricacies of their battle strategy: what he would tell the Drow today would be an abbreviated version, just the facts.

"The day is upon us! You feel it too, do you not?" Valen began, speaking in a normal tone. His voice, though, magically magnified, carried out to the crowd, so that everyone could hear clearly.

None of the soldiers responded, but some nodded in answer, and a few looked at each other knowingly. _Tactics first, or morale? Hmm… maybe it would be better to leave the fighting to their imagination. _

Valen knew there were two factors a soldier must conquer in order to fight: his body, and his mind. The body, because an unfit soldier is the first to die in any battle, either from the enemy or his own mistakes. But more importantly, the mind: the wrong mindset can destroy a soldier as surely as any blade or spell. It was just a matter or redirecting their mindset, turning their thoughts from the odds to their own strength.

Several times throughout history, an army superior in equipment and numbers was ultimately defeated by a lesser force. What was the reason? Strategy played a role, but no amount of cunning can make up for so many glaring disadvantages. An army will always fight harder if they have something to protect, such as their home, or their lives. If a soldier received the same type of wound, the soldier on the winning side is more likely to survive than the soldier on the losing side. It came down to belief, the desire to win no matter the odds, born out of desperation or righteousness or both. (Trey and Delion, having just encountered vampires, would have undoubtedly agreed with him on the power of belief.)

"Before I begin, I thought you might want to know what we are up against," Valen said, with the air of one conferring a great favor. "Pit fiends, elementals, cornugons, hell hounds, vampires, bone golems, countless more Drow and Duergar… each group highly trained and better equipped than us."

The crowd was almost stubbornly silent, but Valen thought he could sense an undercurrent of despair just the same. Everyone knew that the enemy force was great, but having it explained so was a cause for fear. Yet, Valen knew that describing the enemy army was the right move. The mind fears the unknown.

"You all have seen me in battle, how I have kept us alive and on our feet as long as possible. Perhaps some of you wonder why we simply cannot retreat yet again, abandon the camp and slip into the darkness?" He let the silence spiral on, allowing the question to mull over in their minds for a bit. Then, he went on, "There will be no retreat here. There will be no more ducking and hiding. We will face them head on."

"Suicide," muttered a voice near the back of the auditorium, just loud enough for Valen to pick up. The voice, belonging to a shorter Drow with untrustworthy eyes, began to go on but was silenced by Valen's piercing glare. The damage had been done nonetheless. An almost imperceptible ripple went out across the assembly, an aftershock of doubt originating from the speaker's words.

"Consider this," Valen said, choosing not to address the speaker in the back of the room. "There is no power greater than the Valsharess at the moment. The most powerful Drow families, I am told, have either fallen or joined in her cause. The beasts of the Underdark rally behind her. Perhaps even some of _you _might have joined with her, because it seems as if her conquest has been nothing less than the will of the gods."

He paused, attempting to sense the general mood of his audience. Then, he went on, his voice rising. Now, he would have to change the hearts of countless Drow, to remove the instinct for self-preservation and replace it with belief.

"But I must ask you this: if the Valsharess is so powerful, that her enemies fall before her, and all other races flock to her… why are we still here, a rag-tag band of rebels beneath her notice? Why is it that she sends so large a force to deal with so small an opponent? Why has she attempted to assassinate the Seer, whose visions cannot directly harm her?"

Slowly, the disbelief turned to curiosity. The question had honestly never occurred to them before, but once said, it could not be taken back. _Why?_ It was a valid question, and soldiers looked at Valen expectantly for the answer. They were not disappointed.

"Everything she's done up until now reveals her fear. Alain snuck in quietly from the back entrance, taking a seat near the back. Heartened by his presence, he pushed on, "Something is driving her on. Perhaps we have the blessing of a God and do not know it (at this, several followers of Eilistraee looked almost hopeful). If that is the case, the only way we could forsake that protection would be to choose the coward's way, and choose to retreat yet again. Down that path lies destruction."

Valen did not consider himself a bard of any type, and if asked, would have flatly denied any kind of skill he might have in public speaking. True, there were inaccuracies in his speech: if a God _was_ watching over them, then they would have made themselves known by now. However, his audience was desperate and cornered, and therefore more prone to persuasion. What was the harm in believing that you were fighting with the power of a God at your back? Even the subjects of Mae'vir, who followed no specific god with Lloth gone, began to look more confident.

"We must fight, and we must win. If not to save others from the Valsharess' reign of terror, if not to avenge the fallen… then to save our own lives." Valen's eyes wandered over the crowd, trying to look into every face there, and what he saw encouraged. Gone was the look of grim acceptance, the expression of pigs before the slaughterhouse. What replaced it was dogged determination. They would not die without taking someone with them.

"We will take no prisoners, we will fight to the last man. We will win because we have to." Others would have been screaming and shouting at this point, working their men into a frenzy, but Valen's tone was quiet, conversational. Devils were often worked into a rage before their battle, and he did not like the comparison.

"That is all," Valen concluded. "Keep your weapons close, and be prepared. I may call you at any time of the day, and you must be vigilant.

The soldiers slowly left the War Room, Valen's speech concluded. Alain caught up to Valen outside of the building.

"Wow… never would have guessed you could string that many sentences together at one time," Alain joked.

"I didn't see you up there on the stage," Valen countered. "Or did a cobweb slow you down this time?"

"Ha-ha, you should have been a bard," said Alain sarcastically. "Really though, I think your speech did some good. From what I heard, and what I sensed, I think that the group is feeling a little more confident."

"I hope so. They have to be."

"Do you really think we're being watched over by a God?"

"Absolutely not. A devil, more likely."

They looked at each other seriously for a moment, then broke into laughter at the same time.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_8:00 A.M. Camp of the Valsharess_

There was no tent big enough to hold the entirety of the camp in one place, so Tenari settled for speaking to the commanding officer of each individual regiment. From there, the captains could relay his message to their own men. Drow, Duergar, several Beholder, and a few Pit Fiends (standing at the back) stood at attention. Jarluk stood in the back of the crowd, to make sure that none of the captains were up to foolishness, as well as to get as far as he could from his superior. Tenari surveyed the group slowly, a disinterested look in his eyes.

"I've received a letter from the Valsharess today. She will soon be beginning her move to take the surface, and wishes to know why we are taking so long." Tenari said in a conversational tone, and he rolled his eyes mockingly. Several Drow smirked at this gesture, though in the back of their minds they wondered if the Valsharess could see what they were doing even now, and was planning a punishment for it.

"Today we will move to crush the rebels. Our intelligence tells us that two thirty-foot tall steel gates protect the camp, with a small courtyard in between. The gates will be protected with the usual enchantments, possibly more. Beyond the gates lies the camp proper, and the Seer, who the Valsharess wishes to be taken alive."

"The enemy force is small and ill-equipped. If they were under siege, then their supplies would not last them very long, two or three weeks at best. It's almost funny when you stop to think how they've stayed alive for so long. Perhaps Lloth supports them."

Tenari stopped, allowing several of the Drow to laugh at his ridiculous statement. _It is something to think about, though. Why _have _they survived for so long? Besides that tiefling, there's nothing outstanding about these rebels. If this Seer does have visions, she could do nothing to affect them, good or ill._

For the first time in many years, a small seed of doubt sprouted in Tenari's mind. This whole situation was beginning to seem wrong to him… almost familiar. Leading this army reminded him of leading the raiding party on the Undermountain… how he had expected to kill those humans easily, and instead…

_The monk's in that camp too… one of them, anyway, _a voice said in his mind. _And once you have one, the other is as good as caught. _Yes, that was true… it did not matter if he had failed once. He had been given a second chance, and he would not fail again. The odds were clearly in their favor.

"The goblins will be at the front of the force, in small groups of six. Every sixth goblin will have destructive runes painted onto their skin, which can be activated at a word from our clerics. In this way, we should be able to deal some damage to those gates without risking any lives."

"Next comes the Duergar infantry, with Drow archers covering them. The infantry should be able to break in the doorway with little trouble, and the archers will protect them from any arrow fire from above."

"Simultaneously, we will have our wizards teleporting our infernal allies inside the gates, two by two. This will take some time to set up, as we need to overcome the barriers on the gate, but once they are broken, the attack will progress more quickly. The fiends should either open the outer gate if it's not destroyed yet, or begin to attack the second gate."

"Once the gates are destroyed, there will be nothing stopping us from flooding the city and capturing the Seer. Feel free to do as you please with any prisoners of war."

One Drow in the front raised his hand, and Tenari looked at him, a little annoyed at being interrupted. "What is it, soldier?"

"What about countermeasures, sir?"

"Ah, yes. According to the late Matron Myrune (Jarluk shivered, seeing the smirk creep onto Tenari's face as he said this), the enemy plans to make use of underground tunnels below the battlefield wired with explosives, as well as the ceiling above. Since the 'goblin-bombs' are at the front of the force, any explosion they create can be countered with ours. The infantry will then sweep in and finish off the survivors."

"And the ceiling? What do they plan to do there?"

"Next time you speak out of turn, I'll slit your throat and pull your tongue through so that it flaps out onto your chest. Are we clear?" Tenari's tone was calm, composed, betraying no sign of anger, yet Jarluk was afraid. He remembered the gaping wound in the dead Matron's stomach with crystalline clarity… the horrified expression on her face, even in death…

The soldier must have felt something as well. He nodded quickly and seemed to shrink a little in place, as if trying to shrivel up and disappear under the commander's gaze.

"As I was saying… There's not much we can do about the cavern ceiling: no one can fly up there without being shot down, and there's no telling when it will be set off, anyhow. What can I say… be careful!" Tenari stated, a devious grin on his face.

"Couldn't we…" one of the Drow in the back began, before blanching under Tenari's eyes, remembering his threat.

"No, go on. Humor me."

"Well," the Drow said slowly, trying vainly to keep his voice steady. "Couldn't one of our wizards just cast some protective spell, or something? One that deflects stone?"

"Why waste the time? Whoever doesn't have the sense to dodge deserves what they get! This is war, soldier. If you want to fight like a human, then why don't you go knock on the doorway of the Seer? I'm sure she would agree with your loving, 'safe' way of fighting," Tenari said harshly, amid gales of laughter. The humiliated Drow muttered something and looked at the ground.

"Once again, I must stress: the Seer is to be taken _alive. _Do whatever you want to the rest of those soft fools, but whoever so much as splits a hair from her head will be flayed for 24 hours. Then they will be handed over to the Valsharess to be used as a personal plaything for her pet devil. Understood?"

Most of the soldier nodded their assent, but Jarluk noticed several of the pit fiends grumbling under the breath. Did they take offense that their master was being held under the sway of the Valsharess?

"Pet devil…" growled a voice a few rows ahead of Jarluk, from the mouth of a particularly muscular pit fiend. "Well, perhaps… but M will make his move soon. Then we'll see…"

Jarluk was so busy contemplating the meaning of the pit fiend's statement that he didn't even hear the rest of Tenari's speech. It wasn't until one Duergar bumped into him on his way out that he realized what had happened.

M? That must be… 

"What's wrong, lieutenant?" Tenari asked at the mouth of the tent. "You're looking a little pale. Doesn't battle excite you?"

"It's… I heard…" Jarluk began, before he looked up into the laughing eyes of Tenari and closed his mouth again. It didn't seem prudent to explain his fears of a rebellion to a man whom even the devils seemed to respect… or fear. Some warning bell was going off inside his head, and it never paid to go against instinct. So Jarluk shook his head and asked a question instead.

"Sir… you don't plan to go into battle yourself, do you? There's no need for it. The men are more than capable of fighting themselves…"

"What, Jarluk, you think I'm not capable?" Tenari took a step forward, driving him back a step. His laughing eyes seemed to mock his own powerlessness. "Of course I do. Can't let the grunts do all the work. Especially if there's a chance…"

He trailed off, stepping out of the tent abruptly and looking in the direction of the rebel camp. Jarluk hesitantly followed him, each step took more courage than he expected. It was like swimming into deep water, where just about anything could swim up… and attack.

"A chance for what, sir?"

"Clear off, Jarluk, I'm tired of looking at your face," Tenari snarled without looking at him. "Be ready to move in an hour, I'm tired of waiting."

"Yessir," Jarluk said quickly, grateful for the reprieve, and started towards his own tent. When he chanced a glance over his shoulder, the commander had not moved. One of his hand was rubbing the hilt of his sword almost lovingly.

Tenari was mad, he was sure of that now. He would be the commander of the army only until the time of the battle, where the opportunity for his revenge against the human monk would arise. Jarluk wasn't sure where the human came into the situation, but he was sure that the commander would do anything to get to him, objectives be damned.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_9:04 A.M. Gates of Lith My'athar_

_Bong. Bong. Bong. _The steady drumroll came from off in the distance, like the beating a giant human heart, or perhaps the ticking of an enormous clock. It seemed to be getting louder between each pause, as the enemy drew closer and closer to their position.

About half of all battle-ready Drow in Lith My'athar were gathered in the courtyard between the two gates. The second half had fallen back in the city, organizing a tight circle of defense around the Seer's lodgings. The enemy was crafty, and Valen knew that attack from the underground was a possibility. Cavallas had disappeared a few hours ago, and no one recalled seeing him leave. There was nothing they could do about that, though. The boatman knew nothing of their strategy even if he was treacherous.

"Archers, take your positions. Infantry, fall back," Valen ordered crisply, and the group obeyed with military swiftness. The archers took their posts at the top of the gate, their bows at the ready, while Drow swordmen grouped together loosely, in front of the inner gate. There was an empty semi-circle of space left in the courtyard, where Valen and Alain stood.

Two large mounds of black earth were piled on both sides of the courtyard, looking like the handiwork of several busy moles. The pit that Alain had asked for was complete, as well as several burrows a few feet away. In front of each hole was a line of sand mines, one behind the other.

The reason for the silence which filled the courtyard was not because of the approaching enemy, but because of the strange creature among them, who had appeared from nothingness and made not a sound. Algaricciragla surveyed them with his strange, shifting eyes for a long moment, and only the staunchest Drow could suppress a shiver under that alien gaze. Then, the construct walked to the nearest burrow and looked inside, then at the sane mind, inspecting. Alain slowly approached him.

**This will work, **the construct said, though Alain had no idea whether he was talking to himself or aloud. The golem rolled one of the mines back and forth experimentally, before pushing it into the hole and pressing the small button on the top. The spines engaged, jutting out into the dirt and holding it in place.

"I just wanted to thank you for your help, Algaricciragla," Alain said softly, trying to keep the other Drow from hearing his words. "I thought it would be best to say it now, before the battle begins."

**Don't mistake my help for generosity, **the golem rumbled, and several of the Drow flinched in surprise. Obviously, the construct wasn't used to speaking in a whisper. **You friend has spared me, and I owe him a debt. If it wasn't for the chance to feed during the battle, I still might not have come. **

"Aw, you just don't wanna admit that you like hanging around with us, right? I understand."

Algaricciragla growled without turning around, and Alain backed away from him slowly. "This is just great," he muttered to himself. "One ally lives for the battle while the other hungers for it." _If war is hell, then we already have our demons. Valen I just _might _be able to handle, but if this golem gets out of control… _

"What did you say?" asked a voice from behind him, and Alain whirled around, nearly crying out in shock. The speaker was Valen, who had sounded curious but didn't really look like it. An indecipherable expression was on his face, and Alain didn't know what to make of it.

"Ah, nothing. Just talking to myself."

_BONG. BONG. BONG._

Valen nodded and turned back towards the gate, his eyes intent, yet cloudy. His flail hung loosely in his hand, the heavy metal head barely touching the stone. Alain gave him a furtive sideways glance, then caught himself and felt disgusted. Try as he might, he couldn't ignore the irrational, lurking fear in his heart. The upcoming battle was bothering Valen… perhaps he was wrestling with his demonic instincts?

"You've heard of the Blood Wars, haven't you Alain?" Valen asked, his voice soft. His gaze never moved from the outer gate.

"A little bit about them, yes. The eternal war fought between devils and demons across the Planes, over some reason that no one remembers," Alain recited, recalling the words that some drunk bard had muttered a tavern he could no longer remember.

"I was drafted into them long ago, when I was a child. I lost myself in battle, killed without thought or care." Valen turned to look at him, and Alain noticed that his eyes were shifting color right before him, stuttering from red to blue to red again. "I know this isn't the time or place for trading life stories, but you need to know just in case…"

"In case of what?" Alain asked as Valen trailed off. The tiefling shook his head resolutely, turning to face the doorway again. "Valen, in case of what!"

"In case I don't recognize you on the battlefield," Valen said, just as the beating of the drums sped up, quickening to a maddening pace. From far off, the cries of the slaves being urged forward and the harsher shouts of the infernal could be heard.

"The enemy is close, sir!" one of the archers atop the battlements shouted down to him. _That's not what I want to hear right now… Not when I have this going on! _There was no time for further conversation, though. Valen was already giving orders to the Drow behind them.

"Start, Algaricciragla!" Alain cried, though his thoughts were elsewhere. _Trey, where are you?_

The golem obeyed, raising both of his large hands high over his head and balling them into fists as he stood over the first sand mine. Then he swung downward in a double hammer blow, which sent the mine rocketing into the earth at a high speed.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_9:05 A.M. Outside of Lith My'athar_

The army of the Valsharess was on the move, and the camp of the Seer was before them. All that stood in their way were the gates.

"Can't those slaves move any faster?" Tenari shouted to one of the Drow captains, his eyes searching the ground ahead and the ceiling above constantly. The Drow responded by dealing a few goblin slaves a savage lash with his whip, forcing the slaves on towards the camp. One of the goblins was painted head to toe in a strange pattern of letters and symbols that Tenari did not understand.

_There it is, _Tenari thought, spotting a slight indentation in the ground ahead. As he turned to shout a warning to those behind him though, a golden blur shot out from the tunnel unexpectedly. The commander was shocked by its appearance but still possessed enough of his reflexes to throw himself out of the way, and the golden bullet shot past him into the air.

_What the hell was- _Tenari had time to think before the sphere detonated in midair, erupting in a light so powerful that even facing the ground, his eyes smarted from the glimmer of light reflecting off of the quartz in the stone. A moment later, an incredibly loud humming sound filled the air, forcing him to clap his hands over his sensitive ears and clench his teeth. Pain so fierce that it seemed his head would explode gripped him, and the cacophony of noise around him ceased, replaced with a ringing in his ears. Thankfully, the ringing stopped, and he climbed to his feet, confused and a little frightened.

Tenari seized a cowering Duergar by the collar and pulled him to his feet, giving him a little shake. "What just happened!" he screamed into the soldier's face.

"WHAT!"

_Deaf,_ Tenari thought bitterly, releasing the Duergar and pointing him towards the gate. The Duergar obeyed his command, though he went with a puzzled look on his face. He had looked as befuddled as Tenari felt. _What the hell just happened here? Myrune said nothing about _that.

Any vague hopes that the attack had been a fluke soon disappeared when a few feet away, another golden sphere burst from the earth, flying directly into the torso of an unfortunate Drow archer and ripping him to pieces. The spheres ricocheted away, coming to rest near the marching files of several pit fiends, before exploding. Tenari covered his eyes quickly, anticipating its effect, but instead of giving off light, the globe left behind a misty cloud of glittering droplets.

Tenari ran towards the cloud, already suspicious, but he was too slow. Several of the droplets came to rest on the skin of the devils, and almost immediately, began to sizzle and burn. The affected began to scream in anguish, furiously raking their burning skin with their claws, but the water only seemed to work itself in like acid, eating away at the flesh and bone of the devils. One of the Hell Hounds wandered into the cloud, and was immediately seized with a sneezing fit, first expelling mucus from his nostrils, then blood.

Some of the mist landed on his skin, and he tried to wipe the water away with the sleeve of his armor, frantic. That method proved no effective than the devils', but the water only irritated his skin, causing him to itch and leaving a slight redness behind. That only confirmed his suspicions: _Holy water! Damn you Myrune!_

At once, the scales from his eyes fell away and he could see in his mind's eye the extent of his enemy's trickery. The Seer had been aware of Myrune's treason and had used her to pass on false information to their foe. She had been right about the tunnels, but she had had no idea what was truly stored inside them. If only he had known…

"Those tunnels!" Tenari shouted, seizing the forearm of one of the few Pit Fiends unharmed and pointing to the original point of the golden sphere. "Destroy those tunnels, and do it quickly! Never mind what's inside!"

The pit fiend growled, jerking his arm away from the Drow, but moved to obey him nevertheless. He slapped the earth in front of him hard with his mace, collapsing the tunnel. Just as wet earth blocked the entrance of the burrow, however, another sphere crashed into the barrier. Blocked by the stone, the mine could not exit the tunnel, but instead, exploded immediately. There was an explosion of dazzling light that seared Tenari's eyes, and he fell backward.

There was no way to see the chunk of rock blown free from the blast come hurtling into him, knocking him unconscious almost instantly.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_11:56 A.M. Beyond the Battlefield_

"What do you see?" Delion called, directing his voice to the top of the outcropping of rock that Trey had climbed atop of. The purpose was for Trey to get a better view, and to judge how far away from the camp they were, but the monk had not responded, only stood still, looking off into the distance. Reluctant to call out again, lest there were predators about, Delion began to scale the rock face himself.

They had been moving at a fast pace all day, walking as far as they could before exhaustion and hunger forced them to stop. The Underdark wilderness was no nature hike, and travelers needed to be aware of both their surroundings and the time of day. Certain predators came out at certain times of the day. The two had argued for five long minutes over whether to pass through a small cave, which Delion believed was full of Drider, or take a longer route. In the end, Delion had triumphed, though Trey grudgingly admitted that he had seen the dried husk of a Drider shell a few feet away from the entrance.

That was worrisome- that the monk, who was usually thoughtful and deliberate, would take such risks in a place he knew nothing about. Granted, he was glad that Trey had such faith in their abilities, but there was something more than just Lith My'athar that Trey was worrying about.

When Delion had questioned him about this, Trey had deflected his inquiries from the start. But, as the distance to the camp of the Seer lessened and the wilderness became rougher to navigate, he began to explain. His student and companion, a human named Alain, was on his own at Lith My'athar, doing his best to aid the Seer just as they had done.

"He's not a baby," Delion had reasoned, trying to comfort Trey, or at least to dim that anxious look in his eyes. "I'm sure he's doing fine without you."

"I don't doubt that. It's just a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach… Things are happening too fast!" With that, Trey redoubled his speed, disappearing around the next bend, and Tenari hurried to follow him. What had he meant? Did the monk receive some kind of premonition about the battle, and was now rushing to prevent it? Trey refused to say more, and Delion did not press him.

Now, as he clambered atop the rock formation, looking in the same direction as Trey, he could understand perfectly. The army of the Valsharess was here: swarming over the field like a mass of angry antlions. Yet, to his surprise…

"Do you see it?" Trey asked, and Delion nodded disconnectedly. Here and there across the field, the bodies of Drow, Duergar, and Balors lay strewn in piles. Delion could not make out the nature of their injuries, but he did notice that most of the skin on the devils had melted away, from some corrosive substance. He did not see the markings of the Seer's emblem on any of the bodies, so how could such damage have been done, if not by acid?

"I don't know how they've done it, but somehow they were able to hurt them even from inside the gates," Trey said slowly. "There…" he pointed at one of the mounds of carcasses on the east side- "there…" now he pointed to the dead bodies in the middle of the field- "and there," he pointed to bodies on the west side. "These attacks look coordinated, don't they?"

"Yes," Delion had to agree with that logic. "And the city has not fallen yet. There is still time." The first gate had fallen, had been reduced to smoldering wreckage, and for some reason, the corpses of goblins were numerous in that area, their limbs strewn all about. It was common to use slaves as fodder in war, but in a siege, there was little use for this tactic, as the defender could easily pick out Drow from goblin.

"Look," Delion instructed, pointing. "The second gate is stronger, and still in good shape. The Seer and her followers will be safe for a bit longer. Even when the gate does fall, they still have to go through our forces to come into the tent proper."

"Right then. We need to get down there quickly, so we can help them," Trey said, beginning to climb back down the cliff face. _Almost here…_

"No!"

"What is it!" Trey cried, fearing bad news. Had the gate fallen? But instead of looking at the field, Delion was staring at him with an exasperated expression on his face.

"Think clearly, Trey. What do you expect to do- come charging to their rescue? We have no resources, and no way to fight an army effectively. That won't work."

"What do you expect me to do- stand here and watch as the Valsharess' troops set fire to the city?"

"No," Delion replied patiently, "there's something else we can do. We're in the perfect position to act- undetected and behind enemy lines. Think of the damage we could do!"

Trey ceased his downward climb, thinking over Delion's words. "You're right- the enemy wouldn't expect an attack from behind. If we can take out their chain of command, then the army will lose direction."

"Cut off the head, and what use is the body," Delion explained, finishing the monk's thought. "We have to trust in the Seer, and help them the best we can here."

"Thank you, Delion," Trey replied, his voice weary. Suddenly, he sagged forward, the light in his eyes leaving him, looking like an old man. Delion became abruptly aware of the amount of white hairs in his stubble, and the sweat on his face. Just how old was this human? He had never asked.

"How are we going to penetrate the lines, though?" Trey asked, a desperate note creeping into his voice. "Even if most of the army is up ahead, they must have some guard left behind. How can we get in unseen?"

"We have to find a way, Trey. We've come this far- I won't let it end here." Delion said, trying to encourage him, hoping to see that same determination Trey had possessed in Drearing Deep. He offered his hand to the monk, who was halfway down the slope. "Are you with me?"

"I'm with you," Trey said, taking his hand and allowing a smile to fill his features. Delion pulled him back onto the top of the cliff, and he stood up. "As we surfacers like to say, where there's a will, there's a way."

"There _is _a way," said a gentle voice from behind him. Delion's eyes widened as he focused on the figure behind Trey, and even as the monk turned, he heard the Drow's stunned voice:

"_Lavoera!" _

_A/N: The attack will be shown from the defenders perspective next chapter, during those two hours that you didn't see, so just sit tight. _

_Merry (belated) Christmas!_


	19. Doubt

_A/N: Whew! Sorry, I'm not dead. Inspiration took a vacation, leaving me high and dry. Eventually, she came back._

_Also, I'm going to try and write smaller chapters, with more frequent updates. Hopefully, that will make sure such a long delay doesn't happen again. Enjoy, and sorry for the wait, those that care._

Chapter 19

_10:00 A.M. Camp of the Seer_

The bombardment had stopped, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. If this was a ploy by the enemy to lure them into a false sense of security, then it was ill-timed. Not a single person behind the gates of the Seer's camp was naïve enough to believe that the barrage of sand-mines had defeated their enemy. Slowed them down, yes, perhaps crippled them.

"Good job, Algaricciragla. Thank you for your help," Alain said gratefully, but the golem made no indication that he had heard the human's words. That was alright. Perhaps he wasn't used to receiving praise for killing- what he had been required to do in the Maker's service and what had become necessary for him to exist after leaving the Maker.

The quiet was soon dispelled by the far-off sounds of a flapping or slapping noise. Several of the Drow warriors looked at each other in confusion, but Valen stiffened, his eyes wide and his stance tense. One of the archers from atop the wall looked down at him, his mouth agape.

"General, I think you should see this," the bowman whispered, his voice barely audible. Valen didn't ask for an explanation and hurried to the tower, taking the stairs up two at a time. Alain followed behind him, concerned.

"There," the archer whispered, his face as pale as parchment as he pointed towards a group of creatures among the scattered ranks of the approaching army. The battlefield was in shambles from the explosions and numerous effects of the sand mines. From such a great distance, the group that the archer had pointed at looked like tiny black ants, steadily growing larger as they approached. There was one major difference this enemy had from ants, however.

These creatures could fly.

"Are they some kind of gargoyle?" Alain asked. For the creatures seemed to have large, greasy-looking wings which slapped at the air steadily, propelling them upwards. Each one seemed to be holding some sort of pronged weapon, but the distance was too great for further detail.

"I'm not sure, sir. Perhaps they are Drow, empowered by some magic that gifts them with the ability to fly…"

"They are abishai, not Drow. Baatezu," Valen said, his voice quiet and faraway, yet at the same time, edged with…hunger? Perhaps he was reflecting on his past encounters with them, bloody conquests that took place so many Planes away. Alain didn't care. A dull pain had began to throb in the pit of his stomach, and he blamed Valen for it. The tiefling had fought in other battles for the Seer- why was _this _the one that would drive him over the edge?

"There are five ranks of abishai, separated by color," the tiefling recited. "They serve the goddess Tiamat, and act as wardens and tormentors of the first two layers of Baator. It's not surprising to see them here on the field- they were most likely drafted for the purpose of attacking from above."

"So then we're at their mercy? We have to find a way to get them out of the air!" Alain cried, a little angry at how calm Valen sounded. He had never considered the possibility of an enemy with flight, and his tactics reflected that. Had he known, perhaps he could have concentrated the barrage of mines on them first… Cripple their airborne capabilities…

"Relax, Alain. All is not lost," Valen said smoothly, taking control of the situation. Still, his voice had not lost their quality of hunger. Somewhere within him, there was a growing lust for battle, blooming in size every second until it threatened to overwhelm him. "Captain- direct your archers to concentrate fire on the abishai. Aim for fleshy underside of their wings, not their heads."

The captain quickly saluted and began shouting out orders in Drow, beginning to walk along the parapet. Valen didn't halt to watch the effects of his command, instead returning back to the courtyard via the staircase, Alain at his heels. Calling one of the mages over to him, he quickly laid out a new plan of attack: to alternate airborne spells with ground-based ones, switching between the approaching abishai and Drow infantry.

"Sir!" A Drow scout appeared at Alain's elbow, his face flushed and his eyes wide and staring. Though his armor was unmarred, the expression on his face hinted at a more subtle scar. What kind of creatures had he seen? "The enemy is within sixty yards of the outer gate? Shall we fall back to the inner courtyard?"

"No. We gave them an inch, and they took a mile. That's how we got ourselves into this position." Valen's voice rose as the anxious Drow warriors, following both the Seer and Zesyrr, formed a loose semi-circle around him. Alain had no idea what the tiefling was up to- but he understood that it was a show of sorts, put on for the benefit of the Drow.

"We shall not run, we will stand fast. This ends today, here and now, and every one of you will play a part." Valen looked around, seeming to meet the eye of every single fighter in the group. All was silent in the courtyard, a genuine crystalline moment. "When those gates open, it shall be we who come through, not they who charge forward. Follow me onward, to freedom or death… the outcome depends on you."

"You must be joking, Valen," Alain said, trying to act as the voice of reason. Raising morale was one thing, but a suicidal attack was quite another. What was he thinking? "We need to concern ourselves with the abishai! We should fall back, try to come up with a plan…"

"I'll leave the planning to those who will stay behind! Just leave the fighting to those who will step up," Valen retorted, and even with his back facing him, Alain could sense the glare that must be in his eyes. Just that quickly, he had been dismissed- by Valen, and by nearly all of the Drow in the courtyard. Something was happening. Slowing his breathing, Alain focused, allowing his mind's eye to open. Gradually, the colors in the world drained away like water in a sieve. The Drow's dark skin color faded to grey. The smoldering torches stationed around the area, composed of flickering blue and orange, shifted to black and white.

New colors took their place in the form of auras, a frame of shifting light surrounding each and every person in the courtyard. And there were so many- it nearly dazzled him, to see so many auras shifting and dancing like a pyrotechnic lightshow. Valen's aura was bright orange-red, intermittently growing and shrinking every few seconds. From what he had seen before, Alain guessed that the bright red in his aura represented his demonic impulses, versus the lighter colors of his human mind. There was scarcely any blue in his aura now…

That wasn't all. The rebel army contained a great variety of colors, each emotion ranging from fear, hesitation, and anxiety to anger, bloodlust, and false bravado. Trey had once said that _all auras have a current. New emotions flow in while others are expelled. In a group, auras can affect another, even if the organism is unaware of it. Compare it to the tides- the ebb and flow of life. _

Alain hadn't understood at the time- seeing auras didn't come easily to him. Ki had to be channeled upwards, towards the optic nerve endings in the eyes. He wasn't always successful with such careful manipulation over the aural energy. Now, he could see the currents Trey had spoken of. It was as if there was a constantly shifting cloud of pure energy over them all, always shifting and reforming and fading, bright with color yet insubstantial to the touch. It was made up of Ki- Alain could see bright threads of energy flow away from the aura of the Drow, and joining with Valen's aura. Yet, at the same time, the tiefling's aura flowed out, feeding the Drow's aura in a continuous cycle. What did it all mean?

_That same phenomenon occurs in many different ways, _Alain would think later. _A bard telling a harrowing tale in a crowded Inn- a group of men watching a fight start in a sleepy tavern- a musician on the streets performing for passerby. Their auras would have the same "feel" of give-and-take, drawing from one another's emotions and feelings without even knowing it. _And then: _What is Valen feeling? _

As Alain snapped out of his reverie, Valen abruptly turned his back onhim and walked over to the front gates. Gesturing to the gate-keepers on the wall above, Valen turned around once more, facing the group of soldiers. As the gates slowly opened to the approaching horde, the tiefling pulled his flail from his belt. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, his face hard. His eyes seemed to glow faintly.

"There's a group of abishai coming this way, bent on killing us all. They'll enjoy, and they have _wings._ I know how to kill them. Who will follow me?"

At first no one moved, and Alain thought that for all that talk, all those auras, that the Drow thought Valen a madman for wanting to charge into the field. _Hoped _for it, in fact. Then, several Drow moved forward, their faces set. Alain saw that most of the group were Zesyrr's men, while those staying behind were followers of Eilistraee, looking disgruntled. Valen seemed to take in the faces of the Drow with one look, and nodded.

"Let's go."

Valen was already issuing orders as they charged into the field. Drow archers took aim at their flying foes, while the infantry unsheathed their weapons, looking both nervous and thrilled. Numbly, the young monk watched them go. _Nervous, but excited as hell. Is that what all men look like- right before they head to their death?_ _What do we do now?_

_You know what to do_, a voice in his brain said. It was Trey's voice, the one in his head, which always spoke up when he was feeling overwhelmed. He hadn't heard his teacher's voice in so long that it almost made him jump now. Yet, even the comforting "sound of the voice didn't serve to help him now.

_You have to follow him, if he is your friend, _Trey explained patiently. _You know what he will do. Right now, he is barely containing himself…out there, once blood is spilled…_

_Yes, _Alain thought. That was right. If Valen was_ not_ his friend, then it didn't matter anyway. Through battle, they had forged a connection, the Ki-link. They had risked their lives together, and if nothing else, Alain was determined to help Valen keep his, if only for a little while longer. _How do I do it?_

The answer seemed to be staring him in the face. Valen, through persuasion or sheer will, had convinced a group of soldiers to face down Death. Alain would have to do the same. Slowly, purposely, the monk approached the followers of Eilistraee. Most of the warriors had gone with Valen- leaving many spellcasters and archers behind. They were ashamed of their "cowardice" and most refused to look at him.. Alain cleared his throat and began to speak.

"I- I'm not your general. I'm not the Seer, I'm not even Drow. But at this moment, we are all the same. Connected at the moment. Survival is on our minds. There are great forces swirling around, focused on destroying us here- and with that, your faith, and all you stand for. The Seer will be captured, interrogated, paraded through the streets, and who knows what else." Judging from their eyes, Alain saw that they very well could imagine "what else" would be.

The words seemed to be coming easier now, flowing like water from some untapped well deep within. "They say that those with faith need not fear- their God will protect them from evil. Though I follow no deity, I have found this saying to be true- but not without some action on our part. The odds are immense, yes, but if you trust in Eilistraee at all, and you follow me into the storm, then we can pull through. Do you believe this?"

Now he had their attention at least, by invoking the name of their Goddess. Still, he couldn't "see" it- the look that the Drow following Valen had in their eyes right before they left. _They still doubt, that must change. _And still another voice in his head, telling him to mind the time, mind the time…

"We're no warriors!" One wizard towards the back shouted. His cry seemed to surprise the group of Drow, as if they were in a deep sleep. "There's an entire _army _out there with enough weapons to take the surface, not to much the thrice-damned infernal! We don't stand a chance against them!"

"I'm no warrior either- have you ever seen me hold a weapon?" Alain replied, ignoring the muttering among the crowd. He held up his bare hands, making fists. "All I've ever used is what I've been given. But I can tell you as a fact- I've sparred with your General, and won. Would you say that _I _stand a chance?" There was no answer, but Alain read astonishment in his eyes- no disbelief. He went on as if he had gotten his answer.

"Valen is doing is best to save the Seer, your leader. _Our _job will be to save Valen. He may or may not be successful in luring those Abishai- but there's no way he can return once the main force of the Valsharess catches up with them. Whatever you're fighting for- whether it is for freedom, for your cause, for the Seer, for yourselves, or for your lives- _now _is the time to stand up for them."

The silence seemed very loud, drowning out the screams of fury and pain of the battlefield, and the more subtle scent of desperation exuded from the very pores of the rebel camp.

"Will you follow?"

There was no answer, and yet that was all he needed. Their faces were grim, and all of a sudden, Alain could feel it- that spark, the connection. If he could have opened his mind's eye, the eye that always saw the world in true color, then he knew what he would have seen now.

"We'll move as quick as we can to catch up to Valen. Once we get there, I want all archers to concentrate on shooting down all airborne Abishai. Once they're on the ground, we can leave them to the warriors. If needed, I want the mages to enhance your arrows to make them strong enough to punch through their wings."

The archers immediately complied, checking their quivers for ammunition and bows for any flaws. A few mages made preliminary hand motions, beginning to enchant the weapons as best they could.

"While the archers and warriors deal with the abishai, I'll take all available mages with me in order to run interference. We need all wide-area spells to lay waste to the field. Keep them off of us! Once you run out of this, switch to using enchantment and illusion spells. Hopefully by then, the abishai threat will be neutralized."

Alain took a breath, stopping to try and meet as many of their eyes as possible. Then, "Let's get moving. We have a lot of ground to cover, and Valen's ahead of us. Stay close." As he jogged towards the front gate, he could overhear several of the Drow muttering prayers to Eilistraee. The cold truth hit him then: _I could die here._

Trey's voice again. _So could anyone. The most important thing to ask is this: can you die satisfied, knowing the cause?_

Alain slowed for a half-second. To the Drow behind him, it might have looked like he stumbled over a loose rock, but in that moment of hesitation, the enormity of the actions caught up with him. Was it really only a few months ago that he had envied Trey for being the subject of every bard whenever the subject of Undrentide came up?

_You can keep the fame. It was never about that. It was about the choice, and coming to terms with it._

Alain passed through the gates into Hell, but his mind was at peace.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Humans are animals. They hide it well, with their tall buildings of stone and steel, with their art and their letters and their education, with their codes of etiquette and honor. If you could strip it all away, tear the thin fabric of civilization off of society, what would be left? Could you look at it without blinking, at the snarling beast that is pure instinct that acts unfettered of emotion such as pity and mercy?

Perhaps that is their strength, to be able to restrain the animal inside them all with the handcuffs of civility and society. Or perhaps that is their weakness, to deny their true nature, to cover up the purest part of their soul under the weight of self-control.

What do you think?

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The first sign was always some base desire, some inner hunger that manifested itself from nothingness and demanded to be satiated. Sometimes, it was blind lust that awakened in him, seemingly for no reason at all, no matter the species of the female. Most of the time, though, it was a call for violence: a need to strike out at anyone and anything, a need to feel bones snap and blood spill at his hands.

Valen found he could separate his life into two categories: there was life before the Seer, and life afterward. There was blood and darkness and…impulses, in life before the Seer, but he had tried his best to block that out, to forget.

The abishai were numerous, foul creatures holding polearms. As Valen and his group drew near, the air seemed to be filled with the sound of their flap-flap-flapping wings, their screeching cries as they jostled each other midair. They descended at once upon the group, even though it would have been smarter to ignore the warriors and continue on. If Valen had been their commander, he would have slapped a hand to his forehead in annoyance. Perhaps they landed because of the confusion the sandmines had caused… or perhaps it was because they too, felt that same desire as him.

Whatever the reason, they came, and all the doubts and fears and musings were swept away in a sea of aggression. That in itself was worrying. Fighting with emotion was widely known as a bad move for any warrior, and Valen had made fighting calm one of his tenets in his life after the Seer. Now… he couldn't help himself. It was worrying.

"Attack!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, but his order seemed to fall flat, swallowed up in the sound of beating air. It didn't matter anyhow, the only option _was _to attack. A leering abishai, its long crooked snout bared in a snarl, jabbed a long spear at him. Valen parried the blow, smacking the spear head away with his flail. Not to be outdone, the abishai reversed momentum suddenly, swinging the end of the spear at his head. Valen crouched just in time to avoid being brained, then sprang backwards to dodge the devil's flailing tail. With the abishai's back to him, he wasted no time in taking the opportunity. His flail lashed out, swung from his shoulders, and crashed into the creature's rock-like skull.

He didn't stop to see the flash of red across the ground as the abishai's brain tissue spilled out like spoiled milk, he was already turning, moving to deal with the next threat, and the next. The abishai were numerous, but not the most skilled of opponents, being used to dealing unrepentant sinners and shades on their own Plane.

ZZIT!

There was a sudden thud behind him, and Valen turned immediately, painfully aware of his vulnerable blind spot. On the ground in front of him lay a particularly large Abishai holding a trident. An arrow poked through each of his wings, the head still glowing with magical energy. The tiefling didn't spare the devil another look, before bringing his flail squarely on top of its skull. _Where did- _

"Archers, fan out, catch them in the crossfire! Mages, with me!"

Valen's eyes widened in shock. _He followed me out here? What is he thinking?_

"Alain! ALAIN!" Valen roared, leaping over the carcass of a slain Drow. Too late. By the time he had fought his way out of the crowd of fighting Drow and demons, Alain was gone, backed up by a group of mages. A few moments later, he could hear the crash of explosions and magic from further north.

"Damn." He could feel everything pressing down on him- the heat of his armor, the sounds of the fighting, even the very air seemed to weigh him down. It was just too much. _I can't fall to pieces now. I'll just have to trust that he does his side of the work as I do mine. Just have to keep it together…_

He turned and charged back into the fray, his face composed but his heart disturbed.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

_Near the Drow Camp_

Lavoera smiled, seeing the stunned expressions on their faces. Yet, it wasn't Lavoera in the flesh- she was covered in an unearthly green light that seemed to radiate from her skin, and Trey saw that she gave off no aura.

"Lavoera? Are you…" Trey's words trailed off, afraid to speak the worst aloud. The deva smiled and shook her head, guessing his words.

"I'm fine, my friends, safe and speaking to you from my home Plane. My superiors were pleased to see me return, even though I told them I could not find the person whom I was supposed to deliver the message." Lavoera shrugged, her calm face shifting to one of bewilderment. The expression was so perfectly… _Lavoera _that Delion felt like laughing aloud, his cares forgotten.

"So, they're allowing me to contact you, to help you. I have to say, after meeting you in the temple of vampires, I didn't expect you to make looking for trouble a habit. Willfully wandering into a war-zone- that must be fun!" Lavoera's face lit up, sincerely believing that such an act must truly be as wonderful as she thought.

"It's not like that Lavoera. I have to help, have to cross this field somehow." Trey quickly outlined their current situation as best as he could. They had climbed down from the slope overlooking the battle, and were standing beneath the shelter of a cliff. Further north, the battle raged on, and Delion could dimly hear the shrieks of demons.

There was enough new information to keep Delion interested, and Lavoera listened attentively. When he was finished, Lavoera's brow furrowed, thinking hard. Then, she brightened, snapping her fingers.

"I have just the spell!" Lavoera stepped forward, and placed a hand atop their heads. Under her breath, the deva began to chant words in another language. Delion, whose hearing was more refined, did not understand what she was saying, but it seemed to make his ears burn.

Simultaneously, both men felt a freezing sensation at the base of their feet and a gentle warmth on the top of their heads, where Lavoera was touching. The feeling slowly spread across their bodies, until they met in the abdomen, creating a sort of balance. Lavoera removed her hands then, satisfied.

"That spell should keep you safe from prying eyes, and allow you to move silently. No one can see you unless you wish to be seen. There is, however, a catch involved."

"What's the catch?" Trey asked, fearing the worst.

"Nothing to be worried about," Lavoera said reassuringly. "Like most divine spells, this is based off of faith. As long as you believe you are invisible, you are. If your belief wavers, though, the spell's effect is lost. You can understand how much concentration this would require."

"But, I don't follow any deity," Trey protested. "How..?"

"That doesn't matter. All you need is faith, and I can tell that your method of fighting requires plenty of belief- in yourself. As for Delion…"

"Don't worry about me. I'll believe in you," Delion said, before hastily adding, "that your, uh, spell is strong enough." Trey had never heard Delion sound flustered before, the Drow was usually very collected. Now, he saw that Delion was struggling to keep a straight face. _I wonder…_

Lavoera smiled, her face almost identical to Delion's. "..Yes, that should keep you protected."

_Interesting, but still…no time for this. Do what you have to do._

"Lavoera, I don't know you developed such a good sense of timing, but…thank you for your help."

"Yes, time is of the essence," Lavoera said, turning to Trey. "I don't understand everything that's going on- not from where I'm standing- but I can sense a great shadow, and impending sadness. Still, nothing is set in stone. Go while you can."

Trey nodded, and Lavoera began to fade from view. The green light was growing dimmer, like the light from a candle as the wax runs low.

"Until we meet again…stay safe!" Then, she was gone. Trey turned to Delion, his expression speculative.

"Did you honestly expect to see her again?"

"Truthfully, no," Delion admitted. "In the Underdark, good-byes are usually final. Now, though…what would have happened if she hadn't come when she did?"

"I don't want to think about it. You shouldn't either." Trey turned his attention back towards the battlefield. Time waits for no man, some sage had once claimed. The monk set off at a jog towards the Drow camp, hoping in his heart that Lavoera hadn't made a mistake. There was only one way to find out.

They kept at a steady pace until they drew near the camp. A large boulder jutted from the earth, providing a perfect cover, and Trey drew up against it. Lavoera's spell might grant invisibility, but she hadn't said anything about sound.

"Delion," Trey said, meeting the Drow's eyes.

"Hm?"

"You have more experience with stealth, and you can recognize the higher ranking officers, can't you? I think it would be best if you sought them out."

There was more to say: _assassinate them._ It didn't matter. Delion understood at once and nodded. "Yes, that would be best, I think. I have more experience with those matters. What will you do?"

"If they hope to breach those gates, they must have brought some explosives with them. I'm going to find a way to set them off. That, along with the confusion in the attack on the chain of command, might give the Seer a chance."

"But how will you know how to work the detonator? Are you familiar with Drow equipment?"

"If I can't figure it out myself, then I'll find a way. Don't worry about me."

"Alright then. Let's get moving," Delion said, but in his heart, he hesitated. _You saw how he was- who's to say he doesn't leave you here and head straight for the gate? It's possible- he could do it, certainly. Who's to say he doesn't abandon you here?_

What saved him from doubt, and ultimately, death, was a proverb concerning war.

_War must be waged within the mind before one can hope to fight without. Doubt is ten times more deadly than any blade, any spell. _


End file.
